


Gods and mortals

by JormungandrRagnarok



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asgard, Dark, Death, Depression, F/M, Giants, Implied/Referenced Torture, Marvel Universe, Miðgarðr | Midgard, Multi, Muspelheim, Original Character(s), Politics, Pre-Thor (2011), Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Sex, Smut, Torture, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 114,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26770405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JormungandrRagnarok/pseuds/JormungandrRagnarok
Summary: Set in a universe where Odin never ceased his ways as a bloodthirsty warmonger but embraced them, alongside his two executioners.Story revolves around the relationship between a simple blacksmith, the goddess of death and Asgard's assassin.
Relationships: Angela | Aldrif & Original Character(s), Hela (Marvel) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, first time posting here, getting used to the tag system and everything, hopefully this isn’t too cringy (but then again I am a noob at this with no prior experience) so wish me luck.

This chapter is more of a prelude than anything else, exclusively made to set the tone, time and age of the story. To introduce characters and give a filler on the state of the ten realms.

I will be basing myself off the Asgard depicted in the Thor movies (the MCU basically, otherwise known as Earth-199999 for all of the geeks) 

I'll take some liberties and add a few things from the comics, such as Aldrif Odinsdottir, and the realm of Heven.  
Plus there will be a dash of norse mythology here and there.

Having cleared up those things, here's a basic outline of the current situation between the realms:

-After succeeding his father Bor in becoming the new king of Asgard, Odin wed Freya and had his firstborn daughter Aldrif.

-Towards the end of the war between Asgard and the tenth realm Heven, a newborn Aldrif was stolen and brought to the home world of angels, being given the name of Angela. She was raised by a servant, both parties believed her dead and so it was assumed as such.

-Sometime later Hela was born, Freya died in childbirth.

The rest goes on as said in the movies, until:

-Sent by the queen of Heven to assassinate the All-father, Aldrif's birthright is revealed. After making acquaintance with the rest of her family, she soon bonds with Hela and the two become close due to their desires of domination and power.

-Soon a second war is fought between Asgard and Heven, which the latter loses.  
Post subjugation of Heven, the realm is colonized by the Asgardians, Aldrif is proclaimed queen of Heven.

-The same happens with Hel, and Hela is proclaimed queen of Hel. 

-Once the two worlds have grown into prosperous kingdoms under the supervision of Asgard. The two ruling monarchs and their armies take over the realms of Niflheim and Svartalfheim.

-Both Hela and Aldrif are named as crown princesses of the empire.

With the timeline done, I want to specify some other things:

Whilst the other five realms have been conquered, they still retain their own society. 

The realms mentioned earlier have grown into what could be described as secondary Asgards, not as formidable as the capital realm, they are still superpowers by all accounts, far outclassing anything the other worlds can offer.  
Ethnic genocide has been committed, angels, dark elves have been completely wiped out.

As ruler of Hel, Hela has gained control over the death of the creatures inhabiting the ten realms. She can raise the fallen into undead armies, loyal only to her (still having a standing living army of her own because of the colonization)  
Same theory applies for Aldrif, except she can resurrect the dead. 

Their curse of power has been expanded (so as long as Asgard, Heven and Hel exist, their power shall continue to grow, essentially rendering them fully immortal)

The order of the Valkyries has been expanded to cover the other four worlds.  
Many centuries have passed so the two have become immensely potent. During this period the space, time (leading to the slaughter of the sorcerers and Ancient One), reality stones have been collected and are secured inside Asgard's treasure vaults. 

In this universe Odin has embraced the ways of war, and he rules with an iron fist. His daughters are much stronger than him, but have no want of killing him to obtain the throne, since it is theirs by birthright.

The two have a really good friendship and deeply respect each other. It is because of this mutual respect that they have decided rule the empire as equals once Odin dies.

Present situation:

The Asgardian Empire (encompassing Asgard, Niflheim, Helheim, Heven and Svartalfheim) is prospering, stronger than ever. 

While the other kingdoms are infinitely weaker, some are plotting rebellion.

Rumors are that the two princesses are going to conquer Muspelheim and kill the fire giant Surtur, so to prevent Ragnarok, and transform the fiery world into a new realm of the empire.

It would seem as if Laufey, king of the frost giants of Jotunheim is planning to invade Midgard (still a backwards planet in the middle of medieval age) and use the Casket of Ancient Winters to terraform the planet and give them some sort of buff to better stand against the might of the Asgardians.

The dwarves of Nidavellir are neutral and supply the empire with weapons and teachings (they are the best blacksmiths after all) 

Things are relatively fine with Vanaheim, due to King Fjorgynn having given his daughter Frigga in marriage to Odin. However, the peace is starting to wane, and there are talks of rebellion being lead by groups of fanatical warriors and patriots.

Alfheim remains neutral.

Again, this is a filler chapter, nothing more nothing less. I may change somethings, but it also depends on what you guys think.  
I now require feedback to know how you feel about this. Next chapter will be the beginning of the story, as well as the introduction of the protagonist oc. So please comment down below.


	2. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to our protagonist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is safe to say that this story will have eventual smut, and at times it will get dark. Scenes of gore, torture and so on shall be present.

Asgard...

Bright red sparks erupted upon the impact of the iron hammer on the glowing blade. 

The heavy instrument fell down on the hot metal again, resounding in a loud clanking noise. The action was repeated several times, resounding in more powerful thuds. 

When the beaten sword was molded into its desired shape the strikes ended abruptly. A pair of tongs grasped the steaming weapon and dunked it into a pot of oil. 

Heat radiated off the flames covering the steel. Upon moving the blade away, droplets of the flammable substance were scattered across the floor beneath.  
One managed to land on the wool shirt of the smith, causing it to catch ablaze. 

The young man dropped the tongs and moved back with a surprised yelp, frantically patting the flames away until they were extinguished. 

A low sigh passed through Brogr Gerrilsson's lips as he rubbed the blackened part of his tunic. It was smoking, the skin underneath was an angry reddish color; it was already forming scabs and a couple of blisters.

Scrunching his face at the sight of it, the blacksmith covered it back up and retrieved the fallen utensils. He placed the quenched blade on the anvil so that it would cool down faster, thus making the wait a tad more bearable.

Once everything was done, he made his way back to the tempered sword, and grabbed a scalpel and a smaller hammer.

Using the tip of it, he began carving simple decorations into the blade, adorning it with a couple of runes, animals that held symbolic meanings, all in an effort to render his craftsmanship more pleasing to the eye of a customer.

Blowing the tiny remnants of the metal away, he looked back out of the window, noticing that the sun was shining low across the lake surrounding the rainbow bridge.

It was at that moment that the knob of the workshop's door was twisted, and was subsequently opened. 

His father Gerril was at the entrance. The older man walked over to his son and observed the nearly completed work.

"It is done?" he asked with an inquisitive tone, gesturing lazily towards the object in question.

A couple of moments passed before Brogr answered: "I've quenched it, reheated it and worked it thrice. Just as you've specified. As you can see here" he pointed towards the end of it, where a short, crude bit of naked steel was still present, "I have yet to fix the guard and grip. After that, it will simply need a pommel, some cleaning with oil, good leather to dress it and it shall be ready to sell."

Gerril's face formed in a frown, wrinkles creasing in a curious formation. "No... don't use a guard. Don't add the pommel either, a simple button-shaped end shall do. The rest is fine."

The smith's blue eyes snapped to the other, wide with confusion: "What?" he asked in an incredulous tone, "No guard? Wh-wha-what kind of suggestion is that?! And no pommel? Why do you think our client is paying us? To get a half-assed blade that can't even offer the least amount of protection?" 

He turned around and threw his gloves the wooden boards in a fit of rage. 

"Calm yourself, everything is fine. The customer will still pay our d- "Why? Just tell me now, why? Why this... idea?" he asked, flinging his arms around in quick motions. 

"Unless it's the new fashion then I'm all for it. But I haven't seen people carrying weapons of this type around." he finished, lowering his arms back to his side.

His father turned his gaze to the window, adopting a starry-eyed look commonly found in juvenile men thinking of their beloveds.

"Hlif thought it would look nice." Brogr shook his head indignantly, raising his hands as if to proclaim innocence: "Oh yes, excellent yes. It is truly a phenomenal thing to do, taking the advice of a woman who knows nothing about smithing!" 

Gerril struck his son across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor, "Watch your tone boy! You will not speak to my bride in such a vile manner."

He bent down and tossed him his discarded gloves: "Finish the sword, our customer will be here in a matter of minutes!" and with that he was out of the room, an audible click resonating from the lock present on the other side of the door.

Brogr got back up and grabbed a strap of leather, presenting no decorations to show its questionable quality, and returned to the task at hand.

Some time later, his father came back in, without sparing him a glance, picked up the finished weapon and headed back out. No words were spoken, simple and plain silence followed. 

The young lad pressed his ear to the door intent on hearing the bellowing shouts and yells between his parent and a man whose voice he did not recognize.

After some time, the unknown individual left.

Realizing that Gerril was marching back to the workshop, the smith dashed to a chair, sat down and pretended to be aimlessly looking at a few sketches messily scattered on the table.

He turned to older asgardian "So?" the other didn't reply but placed a small sack on the table next to him.

Brogr quickly opened it, pouring its contents out on the wide surface. He began to quickly count the silver pieces, before a frown presented itself upon his youthful face. 

"These are only 125 coins, you told me the selling price was going to be 600." "I know, thank you for stating the obvious for I can't see, clearly." he sarcastically barked.

"He complained of the lack of guard and pommel." "I told you they were needed! Norns! Why can't you just simply think straight for once?" 

"I did what I had to do; here" that remark was imperative, leaving no further discussion; he pushed twenty coins towards him, "Go buy dinner."

Silently, he collected them and threw his dirty tunic onto an empty chair. He exited the house and was bombarded with the rays of the sun. 

Brogr quickly adjusted his sight to see the bustling crowd present in the city.

Even here, in the poorest district of the golden city, the populace went on with their daily lives happily. Food was plentiful, so were commodities. It was rare to see homeless on the streets.

The young man traversed the streets, keeping himself to the corner of the road where it was less full.

Half an hour later, he made his way to a local market. The prices were high, higher than last time he realized. Those measly 20 silver pieces bought him a loaf of bread, and half a dozen potatoes and onions, each separately. He couldn't even afford to buy an ointment to properly treat his burns; it was ridiculous!

On the way back, the crowd seemed to thicken for some unexplained reason. Brogr had to squeeze through the gaps of the crowd, all seemed to be looking at something, if the hushed whispering was any indication.

It did not matter to him, he just had to get back to the shop and then he would be able to rest after yet another uneventful day.

Upon getting to the edge of the ever increasing flock of people, he noticed a squad of soldiers forming a sort of perimeter around the small square.  
He kept walking but was stopped by one of the golden clad warriors, signaling him to halt with a hand.

"What's this?" "A public demonstration, stay here, it shan't last for long." Brogr breathed out of his nose, unable to comprehend the need for such an event.

Pushing his aggravation and pride aside, he opened the bag to show the taller man its contents. "I have nothing but food on me, please, I'm in a hurry; and if you let me pass I'll be off to my home to cook myself a meal. I won't go anywhere else, you have my word on that," he pleaded.

The soldier raised the armored mask of his helm that covered his features to reveal an unimpressed face: "Kid, the public punishment is under royal decree." He then placed a golden plated gauntlet on the hilt of a similarly decorated longsword, pulling it a tiny bit out of the sheath, "I suppose we can both agree that it would be quite unnecessary to be arrested and convicted of breaking the Allfather's law. Unless you willingly want to spend quality time in the dungeons of the nearest fort, then you shall remain here until the process is over. Now go." he ordered, forcing him back with a strong shove that nearly made him fall on his ass.

He muttered a couple of curses, the man still looking at him with an evil glint. Sighing he turned around, just in time to see what was causing such commotion near the center of the plaza.

A struggling woman was brought forth and pushed down onto a table that had been placed on a small platform built not long ago. Her arm was then roughly bound in place with a metal lock, essentially binding her to the wooden object. 

The blonde lady was gagged, tears streaming down the reddened cheeks of what would have been an otherwise beautiful face were it not for the blackened eye and bleeding cut adorning her pearl white skin. 

Even at this faraway distance, the young smith realized that this was one of the women who accompanied his father's lover on her shopping sprees. Much like her, this one shared the same smugness and vanity that Hlif seemed to always radiate. From the little time he had spent in her company, Brogr could tell that she loved to gossip and perpetuate lies about other women she was jealous about, unafraid to offer herself to the first suitor that would please her every whim and desire.

Another soldier, this one carrying armor that was of a quality decisively better than the one of the regular soldiers (even if those were also no laughing matter), held up a fist, silencing the incessant murmuring, before opening a scroll and reading out loud, for all to hear: "Citizens of Asgard! The woman that has been brought here in front of your eyes is guilty of a crime, a guilt that has stained the city's reputation as a beacon of hope and chivalry." It was at this point that the crowd began to throw rotten vegetables and stones at the defenseless accused.

The lad could notice the small smirk plastering itself on the captain's lips, he realized that the bastard was thoroughly enjoying the torment the other was experiencing.

He continued to read: "The accused has been found guilty in the act of stealing a prized ring from one of the district's most renowned jewelers. In his infinite wisdom, his majesty, Odin the Allfather, king of Asgard and the ten realms has sentenced the convicted to lose the hand used to perform such an act, she shall also receive a fine to repay the rightful owner of the ring thrice as much as the original price, along with having to pay an additional fine of a hundred gold coins for breaking the king's law. May this serve as a deterrent for others willing to perform such vile actions."

The jeers and boos caused the woman to sob harder and uselessly struggle in her binds. The commanding officer turned to face a subordinate, "Proceed with the sentence." The unnamed individual unholstered a one-handed axe from her before raising it high above her head and bringing it down on the exposed wrist with all her strength.

Brogr adverted his gaze to the side, eyes cringing at the wet thunk of the blade cleaving through muscle and bone alike, alongside the muffled screams of agony and cheering shouts from many of those in the spectating audience.

The guard that had previously blocked his path now stood to the side, signaling him to pass with a cock of his head. 

The blacksmith had once known that Asgard was under the heavy rule of Odin, but he had never expected it to be of such large proportions.

Above him ravens flew, but he had the knowledge that they would go report back to the Allfather of the daily happenings, just as the original two birds, Munnin and Huggin, had done at the dawn of the one-eyed god's rule. 

That wasn't counting several rows and rows of guards that patrolled the streets day and night with unwavering resolve. He had seen them mercilessly put down those who had even been suspected of whispering mildly treasonous words. 

The Allfather had certainly earned his title, his power hungry attitude was already displayed in his name alone.

With the shop appearing at the end of the long street, Brogr couldn't help but feel like there would be repercussions with the small talk he had made with the warrior.   
But he would worry about that tomorrow. Now, he had to deal with the bickering and whining of his parent's spouse, along with having to give an explanation for his late arrival.

He brought the bag up to his front, readying to open it.

The blacksmith unlocked the front door, mildly aware of the staring a few strangers were giving him, along with the looks of disdain towards the insignia of the shop. He paid no heed to them, it wasn't worth the effort to start a brawl over something as childish as that. And he knew that would be even more reason for the patrolling troops to come busting down in his family's home.

Wordlessly he entered, and soon enough he was presented with the scowling face of Hlif Borgadottir.

If there was a person that Brogr couldn't stand to be in the same room with, it was undoubtedly her.   
Her pink rosy lips soon parted to let out an acute, almost shrill voice, that made him want to rip his hair out of his scalp on go bald.

"Why are you so late? I have been waiting for over an hour." he gave her a blank stare, trying to not ignite her entitled ire against him, even if he could already feel the beginnings of a pounding headache hammering away at his temples like a hammer did to a heated chunk of steel.

He prayed to the Norns that she would move on or go waddle about something else, and thankfully, his prayers were received and granted: "It doesn't matter, go prepare our meals." she dismissed him with a tone of disgust, as if he were a mud stain on the sole of her boot.

Tiredly, he washed his hands in a bucket of water and began to peel and chop up the potatoes, which he placed on an oiled pan. The diced onions were added to the mix, and he spiced the simple meal with some pepper. 

Once the onions were caramelized, he added chicken broth to a large copper bowl and began to cook that upon a large flame.   
The soup was by no means extravagant, but it contained the necessary proteins to sustain his calorific demand.

He grabbed three bowls and began to walk the stairs that lead to the living quarters on the second level of the small building. 

Both Gerril and Hlif were seated at the table, eagerly waiting for dinner. To say the vain woman was disappointed was to put it lightly. She crossed her arms over the dress covering her frame and pouted like a child, complaining that broth wasn't befitting of a "lady of her station" as she so elegantly phrased it.

Brogr kept his thoughts to himself as he munched on a small piece of bread, listening in on the conversation as his father tried to console his bride.

At one point the short man got up from his seat and retrieved a sack, the same sack that contained the coins.

He spilled all of them, sixty, on the table: "Here my love. Take these in the morning and use them to buy new dresses and jewelry." Hlif smiled, but both were snapped out of their trance when Brogr's spoon fell into his plate, resulting in a small splash.

The two looked at him as the smith gave his father an incredulous look: "In the name of the Norns, have you lost your mind?" Gerril shrugged his shoulders, "I fail to see what's the problem." "You are giving her more than half of our income, so that she can go and satisfy her needless desires with gowns and pretty dresses? How are we supposed to support ourselves like this?!" 

Gerril's stare hardened: "Now now son, there is no need to- "Would you mind telling me how you plan to get the steel, iron, copper and other equipment that is needed to properly forge weapons?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"That is no issue. The vendor that gave me the supplies last week charged no price, and besides: he told he had more to sell." "Then it's no wonder that the materials are absolute shit. My establishment is the laughing stock of the block, it has the least amount of commissioners and clients. I do seriously wonder how you've never noticed it, the mocking whispering and the jokes at my work's expense."

His father seemed ready to chew him up, but the bitter woman seated next beat him to it: "It is not your establishment; it is ours as well- "Oh, and do remind me what is it that you do, other than flaunt yourself like a peacock? I forge the weapons, I buy the supplies, I cook, I even clean."

"And come to think of it, everything has gone downhill ever since you came into me and father's life. We where fine in Svartalheim, we were renowned, some of the best smiths in the southern isle. You were the one that wanted to come to the golden capital. Because of this relocation, we have lost nearly all our savings."

Gerril slammed his hands on the table and stood up, "That is enough!" "And you are a love blind fool father. If you had spent less than half of the coin you loan to her then I would have been able to attend the lessons of the dwarves from Nidavellir. Then, I would've stood a proper chance against all of these competitors, then transferring here to Asgard would've been a more viable option!"

His father was red, spit dripping from his gnawing teeth, but Brogr switched targets again, aiming for Hlif once more: "You asked me earlier on why I was late, so let me answer you; your friend, one of the other bitches, what was her name? Van...? Vand-Vandro- he purposely misspelled her name to taunt her, causing her to reply in a clipped tone "Vandrad." 

He snapped his fingers at her, "Yes, that one. Would you have guessed that I witnessed her lose a hand for robbing a ring?" she bristled at that: "Are you threatening me?" "No, merely suggesting to be aware of the company you choose to keep."

The patriarch of the family pushed Brogr's bowl away, it shattered once it reached the ground. 

Gerril leaned over him, "I have had enough of this disrespectful behavior, apologize to her. Immediately!" surprisingly, the lad stood up, engaging in a staring contest. Even though the two were shorter than average, Brogr held an inch over his sire. 

"You know that I'm right. I am tired of staying quiet and it was about time that I grew the balls to confront you on this matter." 

The tension grew, thicker and thicker as the seconds ticked by. The moment was broken when heavy knocks were heard coming from downstairs.

Brogr had a pretty good assumption of who it was, he looked back to his father for a moment, before leaving once the banging resumed again.

He opened the door and wasn't thrilled to see a group of 15 men and women, all clad in the signature asgardian armor, hands on their weapons, ready to draw them out should the need arise.

The smith moved to let the enter, already knowing that they had come to search the house. His father came down, confused to see so many warriors, "What are you all doing? This is my house! Get out!" 

One of the soldiers moved up to him while the others rummaged through anything and everything that could be used to hide treasonous things, of course they weren't all that gentle, which resulted in a mess.

"Sir, this is a security measure, under the Allfather's law. Remain where you are and no one shall be hurt."

While the two talked, Brogr turned to look outside the window, staring at the moon. Dawn would approach in a few hours time, and with the dawn a new day.


	3. Trainee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events from the first chapter bring unwanted consequences.

Asgard, Gerril's home...

"What?"

"You heard me: you are going to go join the recruits on the morrow. A wagon will pass here and collect you along with other lads your age." Brogr's father stated as if it were a simple matter. 

To the blacksmith, it was anything but, "If I go, who will work the forge?" "Don't worry, for I have already found a solution," he stated at him expectantly "Well, what is it?"

"It does not concern you, especially now that you're leaving." Gerril concluded, moving towards the door, Brogr following behind, intent on understanding his father's motives: "Don't I get a say in this? What if I don't want to become a part of the army?" 

"You will and that is final," he reaffirmed, closing the door after muttering to prepare the possessions of bare necessity. 

Brogr whirled around and threw the notes he had been holding against the wall in front of him, watching as they all quickly fell to the floor.

He began to pace around the room, fuming at his current predicament and wondering just what the hell his father was thinking. It didn't make sense, why would he send him away, seeing as he was their main and only source of coin?

Was it pride? Maybe. Other boys of his age where expected to join the army. While the Asgardian Empire thrived on its own economy, it was no secret that at heart it was a kingdom of warriors, those who didn't willingly partake in the traditions where heavily frowned upon and criticized to near madness.  
It would leave a stain on the shop's existence, but then again it was already full of them so a new one wouldn't make that much of a difference.

He wondered how he would be able to get by without him working at the forge, it still didn't make any sense.

Perhaps he was hoping that Brogr would become a successful soldier, for it was known that they had a higher pay, especially those on active duty; plus they kept a small part of the spoils of a victorious battle.

The smith stopped pacing and instead chose to sit in the stray bed laying on the floor. When he was younger, still a child, he had dreamt of becoming a general, of leading Asgard's armies to victory against the giants of frost and fire. At the time his father would let out a bellowing laugh and ruffle his dark brown locks, his mother would instead look at him and offer a smile, but Brogr could still notice that it was forced, for her blue eyes betrayed her facade.

It wasn't until a few years later that he began to comprehend why she'd reacted that way. Since he had grown up some more, he had realized the harsh reality of it all: coming to Asgard had all but confirmed his suspicions.

For all of its gold and pride, the capital city wasn't any better than its enemies, if anything, they were the true monsters, not the giants. The giants at least were blunt and truthful about their nature. The asgardians would instead try to come off as noble or glorious, but there was no glory to be had on the battlefield, those were some of the last words his bearer had spoken.

His discovery and strangely adequate talent for blacksmithing had helped refill the emptiness in his heart, but he couldn't help but feel as if it was all being taken away from him.

Because it was; call him a coward but Brogr didn't want to become a soldier, he didn't want to ride off into battle. He didn't want to die, not so young, not when he still had desires to open a shop and raise a family with his own name.

If the continuous rumors of invading Muspelheim where true, then it would be over for him, the batch of freshly graduated soldiers would be dispatched in the oncoming war, and he would likely meet his end.

The people liked to boast of the strength and courage of their army, of their immortal warriors who couldn't be killed, but that fictitious reality was true only for the seasoned and experienced veterans, the same couldn't be said for the younger warriors, except for a prodigy here and there, the rest might as well be lambs heading towards the butcher's slaughterhouse.

Brogr had foreseen the possibility of this outcome, but he would have never guessed that it would fulfill itself. 

That was unless...

The smith stood back up, and banged his fist down on the table in anger.

That bitch Hlif had set him up! She had convinced his father, she had him wrapped around her finger, she could, and why shouldn't she? 

In doing so she would free herself from him and his nagging personality once and for all, and when the chance would inevitably present itself, she would fake sadness and shed crocodile tears upon hearing of his unfortunate demise, then nobody would question her suggestion in all of this.

Brogr sighed and rested his head on his open palm, rubbing at his forehead. She had probably began whispering ideas in his father's ears since the previous evening. The whole search party likely had a part in it, and she could've used it as further leverage to convince Gerril.

The young blacksmith was caught in a trap, a trap he couldn't escape least he wanted to be branded a criminal. He would have to listen to his father, his superior; the law dictated that the parent of a child would have complete say over his son's or daughter's actions until they reached the cusp of adulthood of twenty years of life.

Brogr was still three years away from that age. He was trapped like a mouse, and nothing short of a miracle could save him from this situation. Whatever choice he took would lead to certain death.

The smith held back a sob once the realization kicked in, knowledge of the thought of passing away before even becoming a fully grown up man was emotionally destroying him.

He took the time to calm down, to collect his feelings and push them down, hiding them away from an outside world that wouldn't care for his sentiments.

The smith slowly craned his neck around, taking a long, observant look of the smithy, filled with the tools and instruments he had used to create some of his favorite pieces, pieces that he had forged over several burns and small scars.

Today was supposed to be the dawn to yet another uneventful, normal cycle, but it wouldn't go that way. The cycle had been broken the moment he had tried to convince the soldier the previous evening.

Brogr used the back of his hand to remove the wet stains bordering around his eyes, sniffing a couple of times before letting out a small cough to release the pent up anxiety and tightness that had gripped his throat moments prior.

He took a few steps towards a medium sized leather bag, his fingertips trailing over the numerous types of furniture, over the table, over all of the scalpels, knifes and hammers, over the blackened anvil, now a cold dull grey, devoid of the heat that rolled off the scalding steel.

The boy began to fill his bag, placing clothes, cotton tunics on one side, a couple of sweaters on the other, completing the protective outer rim with many socks, undergarments and pants. The center was left bare and he used that space to put his personal possessions: the small paper notebook containing all of his designs, a small stick tipped with a crude piece of carbon with which he would sketch, a small pot of night black ink and the quill for which it was used, the feather of an eagle Brogr had found a long time ago.

Finally, he inserted a knife, an old blade, bare of any decorations and riddled with many protruding edges. In terms of conditions it was no better than dirt. But it was his knife, his knife, his first creation. 

While the level displayed here was worse than the one of a beginner, insignificant compared to where he was currently at, it had all started with this single rod of iron, and nothing else. Not so much of a trace of carbon, steel, copper, bronze, silver, gold or, Norns be blessed, uru.

And still this was where his passion had been born, at the edge of puberty.

He rubbed it softly, the small ridges scraping against the hardened skin of his finger. The blacksmith covered it up with the remainder of his clothes, not that he had many.

Gripping the laces of the bag he pulled at them until secure and then tied a knot so that it wouldn't open again.

Brogr looked out of the window for the third time in that afternoon, and knew that the carriage would arrive pretty soon. 

He turned to the table and picked up the papers that laid on them. Crumbling them so that they formed a cylinder, the smith grasped one end and tore it in half, repeating the process a couple more times as small pieces glided to the floor. Then, he picked up the broom leaning on the wall next to his bed.

He quickly swept the paper remains along with those of the discarded notes from earlier, and threw them out of the glass window, down to the lush green grass.

If his father thought that he'd go without a fight, then he was in for a nasty surprise.

Brogr walked out of the door, past the actual shop and to the front entrance. Upon exiting he came just in time as his ride stopped: it was a simple cart, pulled by a couple of horses.

The man holding the reigns of the animals, the driver, briefly spoke to his father, giving him a piece of parchment, which his father wrote down on, restituting it back once finished.

The smith noticed that the bitch wasn't present, so she was surely at the marketplace, buying new accessories with his hard earned silver.

"Son, it is time to leave. I wish you well on your training." he clasped him on the shoulder, squeezing a couple times.

He replied much in the same manner: "I wish you good fortune for the times to come." and with that he climbed onto the cart and took a seat.

The slightly short smith wasn't alone, for there were another six youths his age sitting as well: three boys and three girls, an equal division of gender.

Only a couple spared him a glance, to which they didn't follow up with any sort of cordial greeting, so the smith opted to instead look at his feet, clenching at the rough material of his bag, placing it between his legs.

It wasn't until much later when they where outside of the main city that the silence began to break.

They had been traveling for a few hours, out into the open lands towards the back of the planet, the road here was rocky and riddled with holes, forcing Brogr to shift his ass every once in a while, so that it wouldn't ache so much.

It was here amidst the relative silence that one of the other lads began to talk sharing his story.

Soon enough they all began to share their tales, boasting over one thing and the next, the driver chiming in at times, "You have to believe me, I had seen the wolf attack and gouge out the bear's heart, and as it was- "HA! You haven't seen anything you lying sod! Unless that wolf was the one princess Hela rides to war, then I would believe you, but I highly doubt that a single wild dog can take down a great grizzly; I say you're full of shit Eyvind!" the boy flushed red in shame as the others laughed in the derision.

The man than turned around to look at him, "And you? What do you do in your worthless lot of time?" he addressed Brogr directly, the other recruits eagerly giving him curious glances, like maids, just salivating in anticipation to get to know him as he had stayed quiet until now.

"I work at my father's forge, I practice the profession of blacksmithing." he replied in a disinterested tone.

One of the girls scoffed: "You? A smith? As if! You're shorter than me, much less muscular." he merely raised his shirt to show the still healing burn. "I'd wager then that this doesn't have anything to do with it." he sarcastically retorted.

They prodded him with questions, and he gave them simple answers, short to the point. When they realized that he wasn't very talkative, they resumed their earlier conversations.

As the sun started to approach the horizon, he came to learn more of the other recruits: the boy that had been arrogantly proclaiming his wolf encounter from earlier was Eyvind Hroksson, son of Hrok the red, a captain from the army with a fearsome reputation. He was the second son, so it did make sense to see him here rather than in a proper carriage. 

Gizor, was the bastard son of a rich merchant, his goal was to prove his worth to his father by claiming lots of treasure. Asa, the girl who had mocked him earlier had been raised in the upbringings of mages, so she desired to learn and harness seidr to eventually become a user herself.   
Dotta and Rota where twins, daughters of a renowned trainer at the royal grounds. They wished to follow in their mother's footsteps and continue the family legacy.

The last boy was Cnut, a lad that was much like him: belonging to a simple family of peasants. He had come in order to try his hand at becoming a warrior, then to return back to his home and keep farming the fields and tending to the livestock.  
He had been somewhat shunned for his lackluster dreams, so he to was excluded from the conversation. Brogr could at least relate to him on a level, and he had decided that he liked Cnut the most out of the group of six.

The others where loud and boisterous, their egos seemingly growing the more they talked. The farmer's son was humble, and they could bond over that. So when the others were yapping and singing old tales and war songs, the two managed to sit next to each other and offer few words of knowledge.

They both had to work to survive, Cnut because the Norns had left him no other choice, Brogr because he was the only one that did labor in his household.

"It may seem mundane, having to repeat the same things each day, but there is a sort of peacefulness to it, and the feeling you get once you see your harvest fully grow and get sold off is one that warms.  
It may not be much, but it's honest work. I'd be happy knowing that the product of my sweat and blood will be used to feed others." 

"Those are nice thoughts Cnut." he turned to look elsewhere, suddenly feeling a bit of guilt: "Yes, the world would be nicer if there were more people like you." he muttered, more to himself than anything.

"Huh? I didn't hear what you said." the other young man leaned in, but Brogr merely offered him a small wave of the hand, along with a small smile: "No, nothing... just thinking of new types of dagger shapes, that's all."

A partial truth, he was wondering what an Asgard devoid of conflict would like, whatever it was, it would no doubt have had less shine, much less gold, he thought with a grin, or maybe, even more; his grin soured, as did his demeanor. 

At this point, it was probable that the crown would sink into more bloodshed, and many more lives would be lost. And why wouldn't it? Nothing in the other realms could stop it, and once ten realms were conquered, it would be done. But were they enough? Would it be enough to satiate the home of the gods, much the less the cruel man seated upon the throne, wearing the previously aforementioned crown? 

He hoped that if the time came for such things, that he'd be long dead, his body rotting to nothing six feet underneath the earth. The ruling class was already bad as it was, there was no need to add to it's thirst for power and control.

Such thoughts would be considered treacherous, but that's what they were: thoughts. 

The wagon rumbled a bit as it passed over a hole on the road, shaking him out of his inner musings. While the sun was still setting, a dark patch of clouds was quickly making its way over, angry blue streaks of light flashing through them with a resounding boom.

"Well, it seems as if your arrival is blessed! Nothing better to start off your training as new fodder." "Hey! Who are you calli- "Don't worry m'lord, the training grounds are only a few more miles away, you'll be tucked in a soft warm bed with a full stomach. A little bit of water won't ruin your perfect mane of hair." the driver taunted Gizor, purposefully reminding him of his status of bastard, causing the other to become red in the face with anger.

True to the man, they reached the grounds, consisting of a large set of encampments and buildings, stretching out till the eye could see. There was a militaristic rigidness to the place, but that was to be expected. 

Even the outer walls and gate, while being fortified to the teeth, were beautifully decorated. All in all it would have been a nice view had it been possible to make it out from the pouring rain.

Water seemed to drop down with the force of a frost giant's fist. Once inside the main courtyard, they were made to climb off the cart as they were brought up, up the stairs and on to the ramparts of one of the inner walls. There, they were still marched down said wall, and into the populated area of the training grounds.

They were brought into one of the main mess halls, already filled and alive with chatter. They sat at one of the long tables, other recruits were already present, but they took little to no notice at their entrance.

It felt nice to sit with a roof over his head, preventing the rain from reaching down on him. The bonfires lit around and in the middle of the large open space gave off warmth; it began seeping into his soaked wet clothes, rendering the situation a bit more enjoyable. The food that was brought was delicious, and Brogr was very much surprised to find a piece of roasted pork in his meal. He savored it with each bite, relishing in the sweet and tender taste of the meat, knowing that it had been far too long since the last time he had eaten it.

All in all, it was a nice dinner, better than what he had been having in many months. When all of the recruits were done, the majority of those present in the hall left leaving Brogr, the other six alone with the others at the table, some sixty recruits, topped off the with the other soldiers standing around them.

A man moved to stand on top of the podium situated at the end of the hall. The blacksmith had a vague feeling that this would be their welcoming committee.

And then off to training they would go.


	4. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training begins for our smith, amidst constant dangers.

Asgard, training grounds...

It was hot, very hot.

The sun shone down with the intensity of the fires of Muspelheim. 

Maybe that was an exaggeration. But it sure did feel that way for Brogr.

They had been running a course that went from around the massive camp, in between the two hills the grounds bordered on, through the adjacent forest and back to the grassy plains. The completion of the trail would make you do a complete circle.

The smith knew what it meant to work, he knew of the heaviness his arms would adopt after hammering scalding steel for hours at a time; but this was different, this was hell.

His body had never ached this bad before now. Behind him, the other members of his cohort lagged behind, some even panting like dogs.

The group had been woken up once the first rays of daylight pierced the black of night, they had been given a small meal consisting of nuts and dried up meat, along with three cups of water, three and no more.  
They had to learn how to properly remain hydrated, as their instructor put it.

It was now over seven hours that they had been lightly running. While Brogr was up in the front with a couple of others, it was only because he was used to the heat thanks to the forge. But he could not deny the burning sensation in his lungs, nor the dryness in his mouth. And to top it off, they were made to carry bags of equipment, much more than what a soldier would commonly carry.

"To build up strength and endurance, as well as to get the body used to the conditions and hardships of battle." more words from their instructor.

The group of recruits was meant to be back at camp at midday, but judging from the position of the celestial body in the sky, it was well overdue.  
The only ones who seemed to be fine were the pair of trainees mounted on horses that followed them around, making sure no one took any shortcuts or stopped to take a break. 

It was truly humiliating when a group of cadets ran past them, that and the fact that they were at the very least five years younger.

However, relief wasn't lost, as the defensive wall of the barracks became once again visible.  
Seemingly energized by the sight of the finish line, Gizor started to increased is pace, letting out loud gasps and puffs. 

Noticing this, Brogr ground his teeth and sped up as well, so that they were shoulder to shoulder, "Wait, we have to arrive as a single group. We have to wait for the others!" the bastard son shot him a dirty look, "Speak for yourself then, those other slackers should have prepared before coming here!" he harrumphed with a sneer. 

As the other youth continued in full sprint, Brogr cussed under his breath, and promptly turned around, looking for only one other comrade.

He passed the other recruits, and finally came upon the familiar red-haired boy. The farmer was struggling to stay straight, and seemed to try and not collapse at his side. More than once did his feet slip out in haste, nearly bringing him down.

The blacksmith got next to him and placed his arm around his shoulders, lifting up a part of the burden, "Brogr? Wh-What are you doing? We can-can't!" the other lad merely huffed and worked on keeping a steady speed, "If the instructors don't want it, then I'll stop. But seeing as none of the ones accompanying us have made an effort to tell us otherwise, I'll continue."

As the time went by, he counted another twenty recruits running away from the loosely formed chunk of lads. 

The one in front of them, Kolskegg, suddenly tripped and feel. The two went to help him up but their hands were slapped away, "Keep away from me, peasants!" he yelled before running forward. 

Cnut makes face adopted one of hurt, while Brogr scowled, "We were trying to help..." "I know, he just thinks higher of himself. It won't do him any good."  
"I agree." he concluded sighing.

When they reached one of the courtyards, the one that was marked as the end of the trail, Cnut was well off enough that he jogged without the smith's help.  
They reached the other group of twenty, stood there breathing hard and fighting to stay unwavering in formation because of the aching muscles and cumbersome packages.

After another five minutes, the final ten recruits arrived. Their instructor, Gauk Vidkunnsson stood in front of the sixty recruits. The large man wasn't seething with rage as Brogr had been expecting, instead he looked as if he was anticipating such a result. Norns, maybe he was even grinning behind that long, bushy gray beard.

Everyone was there, and the chief seemed to be waiting, maybe to draw out the tension. Then, he spoke: "Your performance was a complete and utter failure to put it mildly. What surprises me the most, is the fact that over a full month, some of you still haven't understood the need of companionship and trust between the members of a cohort. To those I ask how can you expect to be shielded at the back when you neglectfully refuse to follow my teachings."

He turned to look at the building housing the mess hall. 

"Once lunch has been consumed, you shall redo the entire course, if it takes you until nightfall to get here I care not. What I do care for is that you stay together as a single unit." he looked at the merchant's son, pointing an accusatory finger at him, "And you, Gizor Bastardsson or whatever you're called, will learn to cool your temper. You'll spend the rest of the day studying war strategies and tactics."

The boy opened his mouth to rant but in a flash Gauk was in front of him, and promptly decked him in the nose, breaking it with a loud crunch.

The man grabbed the other by the hair, uncaring of the red blood spilling abundantly from the fractured body part.  
"It seems that with age my hearing is starting to deteriorate. Would you mind repeating what you were saying?" when no response came, he threw the lad back down. But the trainer's ears were as sharp as a polished blade: he whirled around at the two recruits that had let out a snigger. "You will join him as well. It would be quite hypocritical of me to go on and prattle about unity without actually enforcing it."

His legs felt as they had been sawed off from his waist, they felt numb as he sat on the long oak plank that served as seating.

The food served was plentiful, trays of roasted meat and vegetables passed over the tables, along with fruit and fish. The other recruits wasted no time in stuffing their maws full, gulping down everything in mere seconds and greedily drinking from their cups of water. 

Brogr was about to do the same, but was stopped by his friend, "Don't, eat little, drink lots of water but do so slowly." the lad stared back at his equal with a confused look, "What? Why not? Norns I'm starving..." he grasped his fork and stabbed it into the succulent lamb, but the farmer softly grabbed his arm and held it still.

"If there's a thing that we farmers know for certain, is that you never go out and work on a full stomach. Heed my warning, you won't regret it." the smith leaned back a little, contemplating his words of advice.  
Nodding, he relented: "Alright, I trust you on this. But... how come you haven't told the others of this?" Cnut made a small frown, "I tried, but as always they wouldn't listen. Told me very spitefully to fuck off." the young asgardian placed a reassuring hand on his fellow's shoulder, giving a couple of pats.

Less than half an hour later, they were at the courtyard again, Brogr began to bend forward and stretch his legs, grimacing at the tightness of his lower limbs and the occasional pop at his stiff joints.  
Looking at the other recruits, he realized the words of treasure Cnut had given him: the others made faces and some were rubbing their bellies.

He dared to say that he could spot the outline of a small bulge on Rota's stomach. Of course he would never tell her; she was merciless during training, the black bruises along his sword arm were proof of that.

Hissing out in effort, he hoisted the luggage on his shoulders, momentarily shifting backwards before correcting his posture and shifting his balance with his center of mass. They began to lightly jog again, and he could instantly tell that it would be another session in hell.

The overhead clouds didn't reassure him and his instincts told him that soon enough they would be trekking in the muddy dirt.

It was hours later that the sky brought down its wrath, and some of the others stopped to puke, incapable of holding in their lunch whilst doing such strenuous exercise. The mounted instructors merely poked at those that had stopped with the wooden ends of their spears, ordering them to move once more. Said men and women seemed unaffected by the rain, so where their horses.

If his mind served him correctly, then they were about halfway done.

Fortunately the rain had stopped upon their return, and surprisingly, the sun still hadn't set completely.  
Gauk was there as always, and regarded them slightly better this time around: "Well, you actually took less time. Compliments on that." a few trainees muttered in victory and patted each other on the back. Vidkunnsson's glare visibly hardened: "However, you were the cohort that took the longest to complete the course. As such the cleaning chores befall on you. Once those are done, go wash in the river and go eat dinner. I'll not have one of the mess halls stink of sweat and horse shit." 

Some grumbled, but Brogr knew better than to complain, the examples from the past weeks and Gizor's punishment served as a deterrent.  
The muck from the stables was putrid and made his mouth gag in revolt. Still, he scraped it away along with the uneaten hay. After that, Eyvind passed him one of the buckets and together they washed the floor. 

The other lad seemed to hold resentment towards him, so they scrubbed in silence. They suddenly heard Asa's voice from the box next to theirs: "How in Odin's name did that shit reach the roof?!" it was then that he allowed a grin to come to his face.

Later he was at the river, walking among the bank with Cnut, both holding their set of dry clothes, which they placed on the grass nearby. The two were a bit distant from the other thirty male recruits, as they were loud and boisterous. Plus, Brogr was mildly annoyed at the fact that they kept measuring the length of theirs cocks, as if expecting that the next day they would suddenly grow longer. 

He could at least take pride in the fact that the first (and only) time that he had been there to witness it; he could confirm that he was one of the biggest in the group. Oh Norns, the irony of it! It seemed as if his lack in height had been more than made up with what was below his belt.

Of course, the female recruits where bathing in the river as well, just up and over the hill. Naturally, guards were loosely spread around the area, so that neither of the sexes could spy on each other.  
And after many times of doing this, Brogr had renounced to privacy, but then again they were all men, so nothing was out of the ordinary.

A man passed along the bank just as they had finished, distributing soap. He threw two bars at them, which they then used to fully clean themselves.

"Any idea on what we'll be doing tomorrow?" the red haired lad asked, "Hmph... nay, I don't. Horseback riding?" he added a moment later after reflecting on it. 

Cnut adopted a similar thoughtful expression, "Could be. I'd bet on archery." "Sure you would..." he muttered in a whisper, though it did not escape the other boy, who splashed some water in his direction, a playful smile pulling at the edges of his lips.  
"Not all of us are blessed with a talent for the bow and arrow." 

"Yes yes, my apologies." he relented. That was that: playful banter. In all honesty, this had to be one of the smith's favorite moments: relatively alone and in a peaceful place. Here the two could pretend to be what they were truly, not warriors in training, but simple people and nothing else.

Unfortunately, Brogr had noticed that Cnut had this somewhat childish belief that the king and his associates were truly noble, that all the conquests and wars were waged in the name of good and altruism. He could not blame him though, for he had grown up in the open fields, far away from the city. 

The brutality and oppression of the crown was probably less severe than what it was in his district.

But since he came to the training grounds, his view had been slowly changing with each passing day. The belief was still there, but it was nowhere near as strong as it had been upon the arrival.

And each day the farmer found himself agreeing with the blacksmith more and more. This also caused them both to grow closer and their friendship to strengthen. 

"Come on then, let's get this over with, I'm hungry." he stated, pulling out the pair washing boards, giving the second to his companion. They began to scrub their dirty, and frankly stinky clothes, so that any residue of mud would be thoroughly cleansed.

Once that was that done, they exited the river and began drying themselves with the towels that had been given with the soap. 

It was when he was in the process of tying the laces of his boots that he noticed a fully armored warrior mounted on a horse. His attention was focused solely on him. Cnut noticed that he had stopped and stood up, so he did the same and noticed the soldier as well.

It was then that the soldier promptly pulled the reins and turned around, riding down to the hill.

"What was that? Did he want anything from us?" the smith still kept his eyes on the spot where the combatant had been moments prior. 

"I don't know... think nothing of it, let's go." he insisted and finished dressing.

They grabbed their soggy garments and made their way on the trail, back to the barracks. The others were still in the water, splashing and having fun. Their bars of soap where still untouched and dry.

The guards sneered, presumably annoyed.  
Cnut regarded their fellow recruits: "If they keep at it, they'll miss dinner- "Then it's best that you two fucks get moving at it. At least you have brains enough to not waste time." A guard called them, frustration evident in his tone, it was nearly nighttime after all.

Upon taking the trek back to the barracks, they were stopped and brought to their trainer's office.

It was obviously decorated, lavishly so: in addition to the overwhelming amount of gold, there were numerous finely crafted weapons, and many relics and trophies, the wolf skin mounted behind the desk's wall was proof of that. But Brogr also noticed a few things, mainly the set of dark elf masks, some broken and cracked, others in pristine condition.

They saluted the instructor, who was scribbling down something on what looked like documents. For a few minutes the only noise present was that of the inked quill on the parchment. 

The two lads shared eye contact for a moment, confused at the lack of address.

Finally he set the pen down and gave them a proper look, "At ease recruits. Take a seat." he gestured to the pair of chairs in front of the desk.

"Whilst your cohort is finally starting to use my advice and teachings, I've been told on numerous reports from my subordinates that you are detached from the group, often preferring each other's company. Why is this?" his penetrating gaze settled on them.

They hesitated for a moment, before the trainer barked, "Do tell me, I have other more pressing matters than speaking with you worthless lot!" that stirred Cnut to answer, "Nothing sire, we simply find ourselves not partaking in their games and conversations simply because we do not enjoy them." he said, voice quivering slightly. 

Sweat was collecting on his forehead, before he continued: "Th-This does not mean that we do not cooperate while training sir." 

Vidkunnsson pinned him with a harsh glare, testing the lad's resolve. "I thought as much, return to your quarters." They stood back up, saluted, and made their way to the exit. 

"Not you, stay." Brogr felt a shiver run down his spine, and he moved back to their chair.

"Sir?" A message came in today, one from your father.  
He placed a piece of parchment on the table and opened it. "Brogr Gerrilsson, born on Svartalheim. Profession as a blacksmith. That isn't surprising considering you keep staring at the forge the same way a lad stares at a wet cunt." 

He held his reaction in, but it was evident that it wasn't enough to fool him: "One does not become a trainer in the army by simply being good with a sword." he informed him.

"Sir, with respect, you said that my father had sent a message." "Yes, from Gerril Hognisson." He presented yet another piece of parchment.

He quickly read it, before setting it down, visibly upset. 

"I know that you didn't come out here on your own free will. The way you go at it with the training is evidence, not counting the fact you are horrible in nearly everything. But a few ravens have been whispering in my ear about a certain lack of... loyalty to the Allfather." His blood went cold at that.

"Now I feel like I don't have to remind you of the punishment for treason." He set his muscular arms on the table, danger emanating from him.

"For your own good, act like a good dog. Not everyone can be a warrior, I know that very well: someone has to keep our society alive and properly functioning. But that does not excuse your attitude. Treason is still treason, and the moment you'll step out of line I'll be the one to have your head."

The instructor reached forward and grabbed the letter, before throwing it in the fireplace, burning it to a crisp.

"Leave, and remember this talk." he threatened, resuming his paperwork.


	5. Struggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A message is revealed, and things take a dark turn.

Asgard, training grounds...

Brogr steadied his breath, tensing his upper body, arms taut in preparation.

His fingertips were aching from pulling at the bowstring and feathered end of the arrow.

He angled his line of sight with the shaft of the deadly object, which rested on his thumb, targeting the hay dummy placed a couple dozen feet away.

The smith stilled for a moment, exhaling and releasing the vice-like grip of his fingers, the tempered wood softly moving across the skin of his exposed digit with the speed of lightning.

Time seemed to slow down as the arrow sailed through the air, unwavering like a knife slicing the soft tissue of meat.  
It flew straight and true, accelerating, only to nick the side of the dummy's head and continue on its path.

The young man sighed in disappointment at yet another failed attempt.

Beside him echoed the sounds of other arrows being let loose, while others were being continuously nocked.  
He gave a short glance around him, seeing as his fellow trainees tried their marksmanship with varying degrees of success.

Most of them were able to hit the target at the torso and limbs, with the occasional hit to the head here and there; however there was still a large abundance of missed shot, as seen by the tens of darts sticking out of the brown ground in front of, and all around, the targets.

Of this cohort, there was a group of fifteen or so practicing farther down the target area.  
These were the recruits that actually had some genuine talent and were somewhat decent.

Their targets in fact were dressed with armor consisting of hard leather and chain mail, so the goal was to target the exposed weak points, such as the joints near the armpits, legs, throat and naturally, the face that wasn't covered by the protective helmet.

It did give Brogr some relief to see Cnut among those fifteen elites: at least he could hold his own... so much for being a simple peasant as some of the others had insisted. 

One of the trainers observing the group stepped up behind him and mercilessly whacked his head upside down, yelling at him to continue.

The recruit gritted his teeth in both anger and pain, wanting nothing more than to pivot on the heel of his foot and return the favor.

But of course, the blacksmith didn't dare retaliate: he was already standing on very thin ice since Vidkunnsson's warning from the previous day.  
He had made an effort to mask his feelings and keep an emotionless face, a thing that was hard to do at times when being stared down from the grown adults here at the training grounds.

Not even half a day had passed and he could already feel the spying glances from some of the instructors; no doubt they knew of the recent talk, and they were probably waiting for him to falter and make a grave enough mistake to be misplaced with treason.

It really was a wolf's den here, where the strong preyed on those considered to be weak, and yet the commanding authorities had the nerve and audacity to praise and talk about companionship and honor. There was no honor in blood, Norns, the commanding class behaved like animals, worse yet, the lowborn believed it to be all good! But all in all that wasn't too shocking given that he did live under the rule of a bloodthirsty tyrant.

Absently he picked out another arrow from the near empty quiver that was strapped onto his back.  
The movement was obviously a bit clumsy, bordering on being sluggish as he nearly snapped the shaft in two when trying to remove it.

His energy had been waning since he had begun straining his hands with this brutal torture a while ago; who knew that archery could be so difficult and taxing?

He aimed the steel tipped piece of wood, once again directing his line of sight towards the dummy. 

This time the arrow somehow managed to land on the face of the fake enemy, right in between the two stone eyes, an instant kill, swift and clean.

A smile did grace his lips, but was soured when the same trainer from before came up to him: "Wipe that grin off your face"! He did as told, resuming the automatic movements from earlier, he was stopped when the sneering man grabbed his arm, "You think you're special, don't you? What for then? Hitting the dummy in the head?" He then reared back a limb and punched the smith in face.

Brogr was not expecting an attack, and thus had no time to defend himself. The gloved fist hit him square in the jaw; and as he fell, he accidentally bit the inside of his cheek, forming a small cut that began to bleed.

His head landed on the ground with a loud thud, dazing him momentarily.  
He didn't even have the chance to spit out the blood in his mouth when he was roughly grabbed and hauled back to his feet, "Out of twenty four shots you only hit the target six times, you can't even predict an attack for Odin's beard!" the instructor screamed in his face.

"Go!" he ordered, shoving the bow into his chest.

His attention was then directed at a few of the other trainees that had ceased their actions upon hearing and witnessing the ruckus.

The blacksmith kept firing passively, most of his projectiles failing to reach the target or missing all together.

Thankfully, one of the main towers of the camp's central keep began to bellow its bells, signaling to all that it was time for lunch.

Sending a quick prayer of gratitude towards the Norns, Brogr made his way to the stand behind the archery range, setting down his bow and quiver.

Gizor, being the ever despising piece of shit that he was, shoved him away from his path with his shoulder, muttering a curse towards him.  
The smith knew that he just wanted to have a beef with whomever came under his sights, even a simple insult was enough reason to him to start a fight.   
He had been caught numerous times in a brawl.   
And yet, the extra chores and physical punishments seemed to only add to his rebellious attitude. That personality had quickly made him one of the most hated in the barracks; not only by the cohort, but also by (especially) the instructors.

Still, he did not give in to his rage, after all: if the trainer wasn't able to get him to react by assaulting him, how did the merchant's son believe he even had a chance?

Cnut made his way next to him, and they shared a short greeting, waiting until they made it to the mess hall in order to properly talk and socialize.

He periodically turned his head to the side to spit the blood pooling in his mouth, gently trying to soothe the sting of the cut with his tongue.

Whilst his cohort had an entire table to themselves, Brogr was observant enough to notice the looks of hatred from the other, much more numerous groups.

The truth was that there were two different factions in the institution: both were made up of cohorts, both were considered to be trainees. The difference was in the respective upbringing: the first ones were comprised of cadets, actual citizens that had volunteered to join the army from a very young age, in some cases even as early as five years old. These groups had been trained since then, and had all but mastered many of the skills that were being taught. 

The group he was a part of was that of the recruits, boys and girls who had joined late or by being forced by others; in a certain way they were seen as the mud found under one's boot.

The training grounds of Asgard were set in five different locations, each with several dozens of cohorts of cadets, this location was obviously one of them, and while it was the smallest one, the local number of trainees bordered on the million...

Each year the oldest class of cohorts; the ones of the age of twenty would graduate, thousands of young asgardians would go and join the Einherjar, the elite warriors that comprised the bulk of the armies, the very definition of the empire's backbone if one where to describe them in a single sentence. And once that group had graduated, a new one would be created, its members being none other than children, destined to learn the art of warfare.  
Of course, there was the possibility to join other military groups, such was the order of the valkyries, or that of the seidr mages and so on and so forth.

Recruits were mostly made up by poor, or the simple small folk, at the lowest point of the hierarchy such as farmers like Cnut, and the hypocrisy of it was that it was thanks to them that much of the empire was able to properly function.

Still, the recruits were viewed as lesser, it was only natural though for Asgard was a world of warriors; while other groups of cadets had become experts of the basic skills, they were still learning them... and they were at the door of initiating adulthood!

The reality of the matter was that they were nothing but cannon fodder, meant to scout unexplored enemy territories, those that would lay their lives down, falling prey to ambushes so that the real soldiers could continue marching... this was the reality Brogr was condemned to, and the ever increasing rumors of an upcoming conquest of Muspelheim settled dread in his stomach.

Nothing much could change the situation of the relations, for the number of cadets far surpassed the one of recruits to a ratio of over ten to one. And the faction he was a part of was obviously not the favored.

It often made him wonder, how come he had a drastically different view from everyone else, it was something that kept him awake at night, he thought that it was all because of his mother, and the way she had raised him to read between the lines and false courtesies employed in this cesspool of snakes...

In a lot of ways, Brogr was a true anomaly in the spinning cogs that kept things as they were, it made him a true vulnerability, and he was possibly more dangerous to the crown than either Laufey or Surtur could ever hope to be, for he could change the populace's views, for he was unaffected by the propaganda and stereotyped view of black and white.

Of course, the king and princesses knew of this danger, and actively searched for individuals like him, wary of their untouched potential. Again, it was only natural for the three had undoubtedly drunk from Mimir's well of wisdom... the Allfather had sacrificed an eye to do so, his daughters however? It wasn't known, not to the public at least; and Brogr had a feeling that it wasn't simply something physical...

And who knew how many more dark secrets and horrors the royals kept hidden in the chambers of the treasure vaults. The smith didn't really want to know...

"So, how was your archery session?" the red haired lad asked him once they were seated. 

"It went as well as you could expect: other than occasionally getting slapped and punched, the rest was the same." The other seemed briefly surprised at his recount, but didn't inquire on it, "How was yours?" 

"Well, I keep improving which is always nice, but just like you nothing else is much different." The food was served now, fish it seemed, was to be their meal today. 

They kept quiet for a couple of minutes, putting their efforts in eating, for there were to be no slow eaters, lest they wanted to go without nutrition until evening, not a wise choice.

"I wanted to ask you, you looked troubled when you came back from the head instructor's office last night. Is everything good?" He didn't want to rope his only friend into his issues, so he decided to tell half of the truth: "He gave me a scroll with a message written by my father." The optimistic boy gave him a smile, "Well, that must be nice, what did he write about?" His gaze was then directed to his plate, frowning.

Cnut began to apologize when he saw this, "Sorry, I didn't mean to meddle in your personal matters." He just gave him a small pat, giving off a chuckle, "Hey, hey, it's all right you didn't offend me or anything. It's just that I'm" he sighed, "Angered at what he wrote..." "...And he wrote about... what exactly?" the farmer asked the blacksmith, "He found a job, a noble assumed him, he's a messenger, or at least he's in charge of overseeing the messengers, didn't make it really clear." "That's good news, is it not? He did find a good role, and I'd wager that the lord is paying him handsomely." 

He ground his teeth, making a valiant effort to hide his frustration, "Cnut, you have to know that while I'm happy that my sire can now sustain himself, he also specified that his.... betrothed Hlif has made friend with some of the other nobles. My father has left me instructions to come work at the lord's forge and create pieces and commissions specifically for her so that she may give them as gifts." 

"I still don't see the issue." "The issue is that Hlif is a rotten bitch, who has done nothing but despise me since the first time we met!" he stated, raising his voice a bit before lowering it as the recruits around them stopped talking at his outburst. 

Luckily, the hall was still loud with chatter and virtually no one else had taken notice of his short rant.

"Sorry." He excused himself, standing up and moving out of the wood and stone building to go towards the forest. Once there, he relieved himself in front of a great pine tree, sighing in contentment. 

He buttoned his pants back up and turned around, stopping upon noticing a man walking away and back to the mess hall.   
Norns, it seemed that the trainers were out for his blood. It was beginning to get ridiculous.

The thought did give him a bad impression: the fact of having a person stalking him while taking a shit was unsettling in and of itself, he did not need to have such realizations while performing said actions.

He made his way back to the enormous settlement, mildly surprised at seeing both cadets and recruits alike standing around the head table positioned on a pedestal, so that it looked over everyone in the hall.

Gently pushing his way through rows of people, he made it back to his cohort, coming up behind Cnut, and causing him to jump in alarm at his unexpected arrival: "Where were you?" he asked him in a hushed whisper, "Out taking a piss." the smith answered in an equally hushed tone.

"What's going on?" "Vidkunnsson is drawing ballots to sort out and assign the training sessions to different groups."  
And so it went on like that, they stood there, patiently waiting as Gauk spoke of the quests and duties that each cohort would have to complete in the afternoon.  
Their group was selected for hunting, and they were randomly divided in pairs.

An hour later, Brogr was still dumbfounded that he and Cnut had ended up being a pair, but it also made him wonder if it was truly a casual coincidence, and not so much as a clever ploy to get him to start spouting words that would befall under the category of treason.

Even now, over five miles away from the barracks and deep in the forests that lined and peppered the stony foothills of the nearby mountains, he was sure that someone was following them; yet another trainer no doubt.

"It's fascinating." the smith turned to look at his companion, "What is?" "The probability of us being placed together." "Aye, it is." he feigned surprise. They were hunting, and needlessly walking as they were would be counterintuitive since it would alert potential prey of their arrival, but the farmer had insisted that until they found tracks, they could go on as loudly as they needed.

Come to think of it, Cnut was exceptionally good at hunting as he was with archery. This of course did not apply to Brogr; he could only boast of being moderately good with either a hammer or another heavy weapon, it allowed him to utilize the strength he employed in the forge with calculated and well controlled hits.  
That did not come without its own sets of problems: he was good, but only moderately, he sacrificed speed over accuracy, and it was very easy to predict where he would direct his blows, and it took significant time to position himself to do so, thus leaving him wide open.   
It was then that he would be viciously attacked, and more black bruises would come to adorn the ever growing mosaic that was etched on his body.

"I still don't get why hunting is considered to be militaristic training. Archery I can understand, but hunting?" he shook his head. "Princess Aldridf is the goddess of the hunt. It is the royal decree." "Queen Aldrif." "What?" "Queen. I wasn't born here on Asgard Cnut. I'm from Svartalheim, the second realm to be conquered and colonized by the Allfather's firstborn. There she is queen, and king Odin is called emperor." The other boy took the information in, "Have you ever seen her?" "No, but my father has." He did not have an ounce of desire to see her, or any of the other royal family for that matter: with the possible exception of queen Frigga (and even then he couldn't confirm) they were all monsters wearing flesh. The thought of having to be near such people who had drowned entire civilizations in blood and tears was sickening.

Quickly changing topics, he pointed out at a print in the ground, "Hey, aren't those boar tracks?" The farmer knelt down to examine them: "Yes, good eye! Maybe you aren't that horrible at this!" "Oh, I would disagree. I got lucky." "Just wait another year and eight months and we'll be done, after that you won't have to worry of coming out here anymore." That was if they graduated, but it was simply implied as a joke in this occasion.

And so they tracked the boar for the better part of the remainder of the day, Cnut landing the killing blow with an arrow to the throat. Then they skinned the dead animal and began to sort out the edible organs in bags along with the meat. What they didn't need, they left so that nature would take its course.

Together again, they made their way back to the camp, peacefully walking as the sun began to droop over the horizon, casting pleasant shadows over the forest. It took them significantly longer to march back, considering the fact that they were carrying supplies.

Brogr could have sworn that he saw another individual observing them on more than one occasion, but he still didn't comment on it.

The two laughed and japed, enjoying their relatively free time: ".... and while I was chasing the chicken, the cat ran away and knocked the bowl of water...," the farmer stopped, closing his mouth and swallowing.  
"Cnut? Don't leave out the ending please!" Brogr asked him, laughter creeping up his lips.

The trainee raised his hand, a little shakily, and pointed at something.  
The shorter lad turned around, his eyes went wide...

At the front gate, tied up from the wall ramparts was the cold, lifeless body of Gizor.

The boy had been hanged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to comment so that I can have feedback. I’m willing to hear requests and suggestions.


	6. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training continues as usual.

Asgard, training grounds...

Gizor had tried to kill a trainer.

Apparently, he was being scolded and made fun of by the particular instructor. And seemingly, having become tired of it, he had grabbed a sword and tried to stab the woman with it.

Of course, his intentions weren't realized: it was the trainer herself who disarmed him and proceeded to restrain him, without aid from the others who were already coming to help.

Gauk Vidkunnsson had been livid, a true monster: mercilessly condemning his fellow trainee to the gallows without trial or process. His body was hanged, right at the front of the gate, for all to watch and learn from his mistake.

It had been left there for months, and by the time they took it off, its flesh had been devoured by maggots and was infested with flies, the white bones were easily visible; truly making a stomach wrenching sight to behold. But the stench? The putrid stench remained for much longer...

And in that space of time, it had all but worsened the condition of Brogr cohort.  
The execution of the bastard had left a mark on his group, a hit brand that in a way condemned them forever.

It was clearer than ever: they were disfavored, hated even. This gave the blacksmith more reason to try and blend in and seem as compliant as possible, trying to avoid traps and setups posed by those who wished to rise above their station, to move up the social ladder, even if just a bit, at his expense.

Things had mellowed out after the event. A sense of foreboding was present amongst the recruits, one that somewhat dulled the joy in their spirits and made them more serious. Well, maybe not completely: Dotta and Rota, the twins, still enjoyed beating him bloody in the yard.

One would have expected for them to come closer together, but the death of their comrade did nothing of that sort. Brogr and Cnut still remained the isolated, lonely lads that they were, the outsiders of the group.

The only modicum of good was the fact that graduation was about half a year's worth of time away. For Brogr it would mean that he'd reach the age of twenty, it was coming up in five months. By then, if he passed he wouldn't have to obey or listen to his father anymore.

And if he didn't pass, well, he'd simply repeat the two years of training, not that it would matter much. Of course he would be further shunned and spoken ill of, but he was already quite used to this type of treatment.

And when he did get out of this hellhole, Norns be good, he would set out to do his plan. The first step would try to regain access to the forge, and try to do commissions to earn enough money to get by. If the coin would be enough, he'd hitch the first ride available off the rainbow bridge to Svartalheim, to move back to his old house.

With some relative luck and hard work, he may be able to repurchase the living quarters his father had sold. He would count on his good track record from there as a good smith to be remembered. Hopefully he'd be able to set up a shop like the times of old.

If deals and commissions from the customers were good and plenty, it would spell out a fresh start, a new beginning.

And maybe he would use his hard earned gold to go and try his hand for the apprenticeship of the dwarves. It could go either ways though: he would be an adult, not a child. He did pray to the Norns that his skills would be enough to impress and convince at least one of the master blacksmiths.

If all that he could achieve then he would marry, marry someone that he liked, that he loved, not arranged or forced, but willing from the both of them. If the goddesses of destiny, blessed him with a child or children, either a male or a female, he would raise them well... he'd do it with his heart, he'd try to interest them in his profession, so that the art may live on and be practiced by his descendants. And if they didn't want to follow in his footsteps then he would still unconditionally care for them.

He would grow old and settle down; he would finally rest, and watch the sunrise on a grateful generation. He'd be proud, proud of what he did; and when he'd die, he'd die at peace with himself. Hopefully to be remembered as a good smith, and especially a good husband and father...

"Hey? Hello?" Cnut was waving his hand in front of his face, looking quite exasperated.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, thank you for reminding me. I was just thinking." The farmer stared back at him with a face that didn't look very impressed: if anything, it looked teasing: "Yes, looks more like brooding to me." He playfully punched his arm, "I am not. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Alright, I concede. But it still doesn't explain why you keep acting so moody and sad. Are you sure everything's alright? You've been speaking less, much less eating..." "Excuse me are you my mother?!" he snapped at him, fist clenching the wooden cup that contained his water. 

Cnut seemed taken back, his eyes showed a glimmer of hurt before he quickly schooled his features into an unreadable expression, "You're right. Sorry for probing." "Cnut wait," Brogr began, grabbing his arm and thus preventing him from getting up of his seat.

"I'm sorry for being rude. I'm just... nervous, for a lack of a better word." "Apologies accepted." He forgave him, sitting back down. "But do tell me, what is bothering you?" The smith turned towards the sight of the flowing river, slightly entranced by its beauty.

"It's just... I feel nervous about graduation." "You worry you won't pass? Brogr, don't be so pessimistic." His gaze too turned distant, indicating that he was reflecting on something, "I know that our cohort is looked down upon because of Gizor's actions. But that doesn't mean that we shall be penalized or downright banned from participating in the ceremony. Besides, you'll have to simply show the instructors that you're good enough to be part of the army." The smith let out a sarcastic comment, "Not the Einherjar." "Yes, not the Einherjar, but I seriously doubt that anyone in our group will make it there." 

Brogr briefly took a look around and behind him, trying to see if there was anyone that could potentially eavesdrop on their conversation. "I've made peace with the possibility of failing the graduation. It won't change much if I get out of here now or in two years." Seeing the disbelief his friend showed, he quickly continued, "Cnut, other than spending time with you, being friends; there's nothing else that I like. At my core, I'm a blacksmith, it's who I am, it's what I do best, dare I say it, I'm pretty good at it. It makes me feel alive. Truly." 

"If I have to be honest as well, I like archery, and hunting. Especially the latter. I feel free when doing it. When I do make it back, I'll have a nice little hobby that shall also provide food. Plus, I won't have to eat the meat of our cows, which means more selling, and more coin."

They both took a long gulp of their water.

"What is it that you'd want to do once we graduate?" "Well, I'd like to join the army, and before you say anything, just know that it isn't because of my wish to go claim glory for myself." The smith kept quiet, politely waiting for his peer to continue, "I just want to go out there and actually experience what it feels like to be a soldier. I'd like to compare it to what it's like being a peasant. I think it would be interesting."

His words gave Brogr some thoughts, and in a small part, even with their different views and opinions of the empire's military and rule, he could agree on it, now that he really thought of it, a minuscule part of his conscious was touched with curiosity.

Thank the Norns for their day off, they really did need it. Cleaning the barracks was definitely worth it now that he was here, he would be willing to do more extra chores if it meant being able to have more days, or even simply hours such as this.

He took out his knife, the one that he had brought with him. Brogr held it in his hand passively rubbing his thumb up and down the non sharpened edge.

Cnut noticed it pretty soon: "Is that... oh... you made that, didn't you?" he stated with a smile, one which the smith returned, "Yes I did. It was my first." He handed it to the farmer.

The lad gently took it, holding it as if it were the most precious jewel in existence. He tried to fake it, but Brogr saw through his false politeness. It was obvious that Cnut was expecting something more elaborate and not so simple.

"I know, its shit," the smith said, crossing his arms. "I never said that." "No, not with your lips at least. But in your mind, you did. Didn't you?" he asked, a knowing glance was shot from him, one that was returned with a sheepish smile.

"Very well, I admit that I did. Are you happy?" the two laughed in good taste, clapping each other on the back. 

"Hmm... this isn't mead, but I propose a toast, to good fortune for the trials and tribulations to come!" "A toast with water then, but aye, to good fortune." And with that they drank the last of their refreshing drinks.

Getting off the bench, the farmer and the smith made their way back to the barracks.  
"Nifty little thing you made. Were you worried of having to fight for your life?" The other shrugged his shoulders, "No. It has more of a symbolic meaning to it rather than a defensive one. Additionally, I doubt that our enemies would ever make it here to Asgard. The reputations of queens Hela and Aldrif are enough of a deterrent. I'd be terrified to go against them if I were to be a giant." "Yes, I wholeheartedly agree with your opinion. But I'd think they could conquer the two newest colonies, given enough effort." 

Brogr quickly came closer, laughing loudly and throwing an arm around him, "Oh that was a good one! Quite the sense of humor you have!" he got even closer and whispered, "Don't! Stay quiet on these matters, if anyone hears you you'll be condemned!" 

Luckily the red haired boy got the message and wisely shut up. 

Soon, they were back in their dorms, and continued on with their day.

It was a few months later that his compliant attitude would be rewarded: during combat training in the afternoon, Brogr was paired against Eyvind, because of course he was.

His hands were coated with sweat, rendering his grip on the two handed hammer slippery. He reared it back and swung it with all of his might, hoping to catch the blonde boy in the side, and possibly knock him out of the fight.

As the Norns would have it, the second son ducked under the attack, and proceeded to thrust his sword into his midriff. The tip pierced the leather padding of his protective gear, but it went no further than that, but the blow hurt all the same. 

The smith quickly raised his weapon in position to block, but instead of continuing the assault on his upper body, the recruit aimed for his right leg, which he had left completely vulnerable and exposed in his objective to back away.

The padding was thinner here, and the whack that he received ached much worse. In retaliation, Brogr jabbed the lower end of his hammer to poke his opponent. 

Hroksson took a couple steps away from him, and Brogr used this brief pause to collect himself. He was being too slow, the time it took him to ready for an attack was exploited in a counter. It felt as if this match had been going on for an hour while it hadn't lasted longer than ten minutes.

Eyvind suddenly sprinted forward raising his sword in a downward strike, Brogr did the same to block and stagger his adversary, but the boy feinted and instead went after his leg once more, which he had left unprotected, again.

He nearly yowled when hot white pain erupted from the stinging bruise, that would surely leave a mark afterwards.   
He attempted to replicate the attack by swinging the heavy object towards Eyvind's head, grunting with effort. The blacksmith did not have the speed, nor the skill to feign and cancel into another type of attack.

The taller boy sidestepped and slapped the dulled blade against his curled fingers, causing him to yelp and let go of the hammer. Now defenseless and distracted, the sword caught him on the cheek, and the force of the blow was enough to briefly daze him and make him tumble down. 

"Enough," the instructor's imperative voice echoed over them, halting Eyvind in his steps. Still seeing stars, Brogr unsteadily got up to his knees, wincing as he touched the side of his face: a drop of blood coated his finger; the skin had split open.

Vidkunnsson was shaking his head, eyes closed in disappointment. "Pitiful, you still make the simplest of mistakes, and you have yet to even adopt the basics of deception. What did I do to be given such useless fuckers to train..." he grumbled, surveying the other matches. He noticed that Asa had just beaten Cnut in their own match, and called her over.

"Duel the smith here, I have other cadets to observe," he instructed and went to move on when a trumpet sounded from the entrance of the training grounds. 

An entire company of Einherjar, banners, armored cavalry and even a small group of valkyries were coming in through the front gate. All of the other trainees, a few thousand by his estimation, ceased their training and saluted to the newly arrived soldiers. 

The entire legion had been formed in shape of a square, obviously protecting those at its center. The front rows opened up, and from there, an armored individual riding a great white stallion trotted forward.

Brogr was in the back, but even from here he could see the way the rays of light reflect off of the silver plating, shining on the gold pieces. The armor had to be some of the best he had ever had the chance of observing, it was truly a work of art. Slightly behind the first man, another mounted individual was present, decked in armor that was painted in the color of blood.

Whispering began to unfold in the courtyard:  
"That's general Tyr!" "The leader of the Einherjar! "That's Hrok the red!" "What are they doing here?" and more.

As the person holding the highest status here, head instructor Gauk Vidkunnsson made his way to the two men who dismounted their horses.

"Good day general, captain," he addressed them by order of rank, Tyr obviously coming first. "To what do we owe this surprising visit?" The general nodded his head to Gauk, turning to address the gathered trainees. "Cadets of Asgard, you are the pride and future of our rich and noble kingdom. I have come to see how training fairs among the newest generation, in addition to remembering what it was like to be youthful and excited," his voice boomed out, the last part earning some collective chuckles from the audience. 

"The graduation ceremony is three months from now, correct?" he asked and was answered with nods and ayes. "Due to recent events, our king, blessed be his rule, has requested that it be anticipated, moving the date to next month, but I trust that it is no issue for well trained warriors such as yourselfs." "It is an honor to watch these lads turn into strong disciplined men and women, training them fills me with joy." 

Except for when he was training the recruits. Hrok had remained eerily silent, but made his presence know, "We also trust that there have been no treasonous deserters, have their not?" Brogr felt his hair stand up in fear.

"No, not so much as a slimmer captain," Gauk responded with a confident tone. The smith took in a breath of relief. He noticed Eyvind looking strangely jittery before he realized that that was his father.

"I do suppose that it was quite rude of us to interrupt your training like this, so as a token of forgiveness, I shall allow for a celebration to commemorate the month leading up to those who will become adults. A feast worthy of Asgard's gold!" cheers erupted all around. Brogr clapped, not knowing if someone was paying attention to him.

The order for them to go get clean was given, and he made his way to the river. He saw that Eyvind had remained exactly where he had been as the captain made his way to him.

"At least we get to eat deer." "Yes, did you see Eyvind though? He seemed... scared." Cnut was pensive for a moment, "I've heard that he's his second son." "Yes, he's the spare, not the heir. But it makes me wonder how come he's with us, and not with the cadets." "Circulating rumors from the other cohorts say that he likes to boast and drink, some say that he frequently visited the brothels." His eyes widened a little: "Really?" "Yes, it's also whispered that his father was downright furious, and planned to disown him. It was only through his mother's pleading that he changed his mind. At least that's how it's supposed to be." "That would certainly explain his behavior, much like the reasoning for how come he hasn't followed proper training."

In about fifteen minutes they, along with the rest of the trainees, had made their way to the river, obviously carrying their change of clothes. 

The mood was a happy one, for a feast was always an event to look forward to. But that didn't change much for Brogr; everything would still remain indifferent to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter shall complete the trainee arc, and I’ll be able to move on to other stuff.


	7. Graduation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The graduation ceremony approaches.

Asgard, training grounds...

“Agh!"

Brogr cussed as he landed on the rock overlooking of the cliff. Truth to be told, it wasn't so much of a cliff as it was a protrusion of the wall.  
He had braced for the impact and had successfully landed on his feet, without falling backwards. What had hurt was the sensation of the rough rope searing the flesh of his hands as he accidentally slipped and fell, thus forcing him to grasp on it and burn his hands. 

He looked at his hands: they were bleeding.  
"Fuck! Norns help me..." it would prove to be even more arduous now: the rope wasn't in terrible condition, (the trainers wouldn't set up the training course with faulty equipment), but it was dirty and dusty. 

And while the young man was a smith by profession, he didn't need to be a renowned healer to know that the cuts would get infected with all of the filth that was accumulated on the device.

A few spaces next to him, Cnut stood climbing the steep wall, momentarily stopping to check up on him.

"Brogr! Are you alright? I saw you slipping!" Cnut yelled out, due to the howling wind. Putting his arms back to his sides and thus hiding his injuries from him, he yelled back: "Yes, I'm fine! Simply placed my foot on the wrong step and it gave out!"

"I can wait until you're ready to continue!" he shouted, and to emphasize his point, he positioned himself comfortably on the rock. "Cnut, I'm fine, keep going, I'll catch up!" The other lad seemed hesitant to continue but he persuaded him to.

He briefly looked at the climbing form of his partner, before noticing the other recruits at the sides following him. Directing his gaze downwards, he saw that only ten or so trainees of the cohort were lower than him. "Crap..." he had to quicken his pace, for he was among the last of the group. 

The smith tugged at the furs covering his form, fighting off the urge to shiver from the creeping cold that was present this high. Grimacing at the sight of his bloody palms, he took comfort in the thought of knowing that they would be properly cleaned and healed once he reached the camp at the top.

Securely plating his feet against the rough, unyielding stone, he gripped the rope and pulled himself upwards, his body once again becoming accustomed to the strain in his muscles.

He grasped at the small ledges and indents in the rock, wincing in discomfort as he did, fully aware that he was leaving red trails along the dark gray surface. He guessed that this would simply be his way of marking the place, leaving behind the physical proof that he had been here and done the task.

They were climbing the face of a mountain. The face of one of the mountains that overlooked the training grounds, to be precise. Luckily, this wasn't one of the taller ones: those rose above the clouds, and their tops were covered in frost. That would make the task infinitely harder and more dangerous. 

Still, it was unbelievably cold. It made the smith wonder how the Allfather and his heirs managed to conquer and subdue the icy realm of Jotunheim, and it made him long for the warm, encompassing heat of the forge all the more. 

While he initially thought that general Tyr's announcement wouldn't change much, he realized that by the time he would graduate, he would still be a month away from turning twenty, from becoming an adult. That meant that he would have to obey his father, that he would have to work to please Hlif's desires.

And he couldn't really even fake his effort, the trainers would probably notice, and under law the lack of effort such as this could be considered criminal, punishable with prison and most likely with death. 

In a way, he felt like he was back to the morning when he left: trapped in an inevitable position. It made him want to laugh, laugh at the absurdity of all of it: it seemed as if every single thing in this world was there to defy him. He had learned from a young age that reality was often disappointing and that the world wasn't all sunshine and happiness, but now? Now it seemed as if the Norns were manipulating his fate as some sort of sick, twisted game.

His only hope now, was to wait and get lucky. There was a chance that he just wouldn't make the cut, and that would force him to repeat these two years of training, plus additional scorn and hate that would surely follow. It would not matter then, for he could graduate and ignore his father's demands, he could proceed with his own dream.

It was some time later that Brogr finally managed to raise his hand upon the last ledge to grip the snow at the top of the mountain. The cold was harsh... no, brutal; and at this height it would likely cause frostbite if he stayed there long enough, but it gave off a cooling and slightly presumable sensation to stop the scalding burn in his digits and still bleeding cuts.

He pulled himself up with a grunt, using his other arm as leverage to successfully get his leg up the cliff and to raise the rest of his body. Rolling on to his back, he lay there, panting because of the effort. The smith had managed to surpass a couple other of the recruits, but it had taken quite the toll on his energy and hands

The air was thinner, but it was still present, and his breath created small puffs of vapor that tickled the stubble on his chin. Getting back up, Brogr cast a short glance at the sprawling world, and promptly stopped to take in its unexpected beauty: from up here, everything seemed so small...

The training camp was present, and if he focused his vision enough he could make out the individual towers, the barracks, archery range, river... and there was so much more! The massive forests, the gigantic plains that were regularly farmed and cultivated. Norns, he could even spot one of the other training camps that was dozens of miles away. 

Looking towards the east, his blue eyes were briefly blinded by the reflection of the sun's rays upon the gold that covered the royal palace. The rest of the capital city shone like a beacon of hope, radiant and strong.

And yet it somehow added an unnecessary excess to the view; it seemed artificial, it seemed wrong. Because in the end, it was. Even from here, the smith evidently couldn't escape from the capital of sins, and the home of those who ruled it.

Still, the rest was fantastic, and a small part of him was a little glad that he had been forced to climb the mountain. The pain in his hands broke him out of his staring, as did the grunts of the final recruits making their way up to the top. 

He took a few steps back, fully turning one hundred eighty degrees, facing the encampment. A small sneer etched itself on his face, completely replacing the look of astonishment that was present just moments prior. In all of his life, Brogr would still remain confused on how come the encampment needed to act like a fortress: it was built in brick, armored with metal plating and full towers, along with a double row of walls, all presenting smaller towers and defensive stations. And it was all carved into the mountain.

The blacksmith wasn't a general, he was a trainee, but even he couldn't see the tactical advantage of having such a colossal building here. There was nothing of importance around the area, no mines of gold or crystals, the only way to access the place would be either with a winged horse which were reserved only to the valkyries or with a skiff (those are the hovering ships, for anyone who's confused) 

Plus, the quantity of food and materials needed for the proper upkeep would outweigh the need for such things. 

He probably would never understand such things, Norns, maybe it wasn't even his place to ask such questions, but it all came back to the natural state of the realm and its ways.

Entering inside, he registered his arrival, landing in the 58th spot out of 67. That wasn't a really good mark, it was bad in all honesty, but he didn't care enough about it. For now, he would simply go to the healer to get his hands fixed.

When he got there, he saw that there was already a number of other recruits present; twenty in total. It seemed as if he wasn't the only one to have been injured. All of the seats were taken, so he opted to lean against the wall of wide hallway. 

"And guess who I find once again?" a voice spoke next to him. The smith smiled, turning to find Cnut.  
"Well, it was only natural, these are reason why." he said, showing him his still bleeding palms, careful to not let the blood fall onto the floor.

"But why are you here? Did you catch a cold?" the other chuckled, "I wish. I ended up slipping as well, gash right here keeps leaking red." He showed a long, ragged cut that traveled the majority of his forearm, a small towel was pushed next to it to stop the slight swelling.

"Placement?" Forty-seventh." "Huh, not bad. Definitely better than mine. Fifty-eighth by the way," he added when seeing the expectant look on his face. 

"That shouldn't be too horrible. Not enough so that you can't graduate." "Cnut, let's not lie to each other here: I may be a smith, and you may be a peasant, but the truth of it is that you're the better soldier."

"Only in certain aspects," his friend replied, trying not take all of the praise. "You are still better with a hammer and axe, as well as weight lifting." "Cnut," he stated, laying his wrist on his shoulder in order to not dirty him, "You don't need to try and make it seem like we're equal. When the graduation comes around next week, I'll try my best; but I'm one of the worst, and I wouldn't be surprised to see that out of the two of us, you'll be the one that will be accepted into one of the many legions." A partial lie, but one that he had to say in order to remain safe.

The red haired boy sighed through his nose, nodding his head, "Alright, but you better give it your all." "I will, trust me on this." 

A week passed, and he found himself straining at the numerous trials.

They were being closely examined and observed, in order to judge each individual's skill both alone and when working with others.

Head instructor Gauk had previously stated in the morning that out of their group, ten would be the max number of failed graduates, a fixed number. Under all logic and common sense, this would appear as strange, seeing that it went against everything that the empire stood for, quality and proficiency. Who was to say that even those who passed weren't good enough?

When another recruit asked Vidkunnsson about it, he replied that the Allfather had given permission to the head instructors to apply this division, due to... complicated matters. Thinking back to it, it did seem off-putting with how many changes were happening, this was concerning in a way, and it gave the smith a sense of bad things to come.

But coming back to the present, he gritted his teeth tougher as he trekked through the muddy ground, the heavy package behind his back weighing him down considerably. They were dressed in full metal plate and chain mail, and as they got closer to the end, the squires, those who helped the judges, would add more and more loads onto their backs.

It was bad enough moving through this type of terrain, as the brown slosh would constantly fill up his boots and stick them to the ground like glue.

Towards the final stretch, he collapsed under the weight, and had begun crawling. Needless to say, by the time that they removed all of the armor and dressings, he was red-faced and sweaty (and unbelievably dirty as well).

The trial lasted three days, today was the third day. They were tested on nearly every exercise that they had done, and were given a score from one to five depending on how well they had performed.

Naturally, the ten trainees with the lowest accumulation of points would be disqualified, and Brogr knew that he had done poorly in a few of them.

He estimated that he was one of those with the potential of being among those unskilled, based on the exchange of information between the recruits.

His score at the moment was that of 72, on the lower end of the spectrum. He had done moderately well in the tasks that required teamwork, the other lads were willing enough to shut up and cooperate and that was enough for him. He had done slightly better with the trials that focused primarily on brute strength, bless the hammer and anvil for that, and had done horribly in trials that required speed and agility.

The next task was that of hunting, and he suppressed a groan. He was doubtful of finding anything, since the camp was working day and night; it must have been a true logistical nightmare to sort out and plan all of the trials with the respective cohorts.  
But now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts, he had to push himself over his limits.

In the end he found nothing, which resulted in being graded with a one. At least he had placed some effort.  
It was now time to face the last test: dueling.

They were going to do this with randomized partners, so it would remain fair. And even if he did get a miraculous five in this trial, it would, still likely not be enough to guarantee his graduation, and since he was one of the worst fighters in the group, his elimination was all but assured.

Comparing his points with the others gave him even more reason to believe it, but he would still try to beat his opponent, at last for old time's sake.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Cnut asked him, "I'm good, 73 points. What about you?" "74, I'm not doing as well as- he was interrupted as Brogr was called to face his opponent. 

Grasping the hammer, he rolled his neck around, as much as the helmet allowed him to, and squared off against the other lad.

The fight was mildly good, wearing the plating definitely helped against the strikes of the sword, and it was here that he could use his strength to his advantage. Brogr could tank most blows and actually swing back, the only issue was that the boy was quick and slippery as an eel. He managed to nick him a few times but he always seemed to dance around his blows. 

Having had enough, he opened his guard a bit to create a big target, baiting his adversary to attack, and attack he did. Brogr smashed his heavy iron weapon against his side, before bashing him with his own body weight. That did the trick, and the other crumbled down, signaling his victory. He was awarded three points.

Panting, he did a quick review on the scores of the other cadets, and was pleased to see that he was on the lower end of the spectrum.

As the hours went by, the smith grew more and more confident of his position, and by the end of it, he was the tenth lowest scored recruit. Cnut and Dotta were the final two combatants, and he smiled, knowing that the farmer would surely beat her.

When he did, he would be placed in front of him in terms of score, becoming the lowest scored graduate in the cohort, and Brogr would have to repeat the two years.

Plus, the two had seen that the girl relied a lot on this cross up to fool her opponents to then strike with a barrage of hits. Brogr had beaten her last time they sparred, and he knew for certain that Cnut would replicate his strategy.

Except he didn't.

He didn't dodge or move out the way, he got caught and lost the match because of it. The smith's eyes went wide as he saw his friend fall down, unconscious. Dotta was declared winner and the scores of the recruits were called out.

Brogr was the lowest graduate, with 76 points, Cnut had 75...

The rest of the day was given as free time to all the cadets, and a feast would be well underway at dinner. But... Cnut, couldn't, no he had... he had purposely let himself be hit, he realized.

Later he had called him. "Cnut, I need to speak to you," he stated, seriously contrasting with the joyful emotion of the other, who was taken back, "Alright, I'm listening." 

He dragged him to the mouth of the forest, were they were alone, the setting sun being their only company. 

"You knew about Dotta's flawed attack, why didn't you exploit it?" he started out in a whisper.

The farmer decided to be honest, "I know you realized that I lost on purpose." "Why?" he cut in, ire beginning to simmer in his voice.

"Why? To let you get back to your family, to let you get back at forging, it's what you wanted the most right?" he told him, holding his arms out.

Brogr looked at him, and then started to snicker. The snicker turned to a chuckle as tears welled up in his eyes, and the chuckle turned into full on laughter, as the tears now ran down his cheeks, his throat tight and aching.

"WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, IS CONDEMNED ME!"  
he yelled out, "I will have to obey my father! I'll have to go work for Hlif! But you don't understand that, DO YOU?" Cnut, stuttered for a moment, "Refuse him then! You can do that!" "NO I CAN'T! You stupid f-fu-fucking peasan-nt... I will b-be tw-twe-twenty next month..." he sobbed, hiccups pervading his speech, "I can't do a-an-anything..." his voice broke completely as he silently cried.

Cnut looked around himself, distressed as he pulled at his read hair. "I- I didn't know..." "I'm sorry..." he tried, but Brogr swatted his hand away.

"Leave me... go away!" he shouted, and Cnut flinched, his own tears streamed down his face, saddened, he turned around and left.

Brogr shouted to the wind, to the nearby animals, scaring them away. He was trapped again, and when dawn came, he would be lost. 

He would be unable to say no, and he would have to give up on his goal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first arch of this story, next chapters will have different settings.


	8. Journey back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good old road trip ensues, coupled with personal musings.

Asgard, countryside...

The sky was very cloudy, so much so that the morning sunlight was barely able to poke through and illuminate random spots of land.

The road was thin and in a bad state: the pavement had cracked open, entire chunks of it were missing at certain points and it was covered in mud and water, courtesy of the storm that had befallen the previous night.

Brogr still couldn't tell if it would rain again, the clouds above him were painted a dark grey, and every so often a flash of blinding blue would streak across them, followed by the echoing thunder, that traveled all across the plains.

The instructors were generous enough to give a horse, along with the necessary supplies needed to make the trip back, even if they proved quite suspicious when the smith had asked for additional food.

It was to try to stall and delay his return for as long as possible. He had sent a letter to his father, assuring him that he would come back, he simply did not specify that the wait for the arrival of the cart was a complete and utter lie.  
At least he would be able to live the last few days as a free man, before having to accept his fate. The Norns had it out for his blood, that was very much apparent, though he did not know what he had done to enrage them so much.

He pulled the pelt of fur around him tighter, it was a bear skin, one of the most worn out and it was clearly shown in its present state, but it did its job and that was enough for him. It was spring time and yet the temperature felt like it was that of the autumnal season. Damned rain.

The choice of road wasn't a coincidence: Brogr knew full well that it was poorly maintained, and since it wasn't one of the major roads, there were very few travelers that passed on it. It would only serve to slow him down but that was exactly what he had wanted.

He was glad that he was riding a mare and not a stallion, for he would have been thrown off a long time ago. When it came to horseback riding, Brogr wasn't anything remotely special, he wasn't even good, but at least the beast was calm and tranquil enough that he could properly guide her, obviously trained to be easily usable and docile.

He needed to simply press the heels of his boots into her sides and she would start off at a leisurely pace, keeping a constant rhythm. After a few hours of riding of doing so though, his ass and pelvis had started to ache from being kept in the same position.

At least it was better than having his legs spasm in effort. Stretching his back, the blacksmith sighed as he felt a few pops go off along his spine, releasing the tension present in his vertebrae. Rubbing the small of his back with one hand, he kept the reins in the other, still trotting forward.

It felt strange, not having to work and train after two full years. He was clearly not used to such a predicament, at least that was before he had been forced to join the recruits against his will. 

Just then a sudden gust of wind blew over the road, the cold air seeping right over Brogr and the exposed, tender skin of his neck. Acting quickly, he retrieved another pelt, and wrapped it around his naked flesh. He did not want to get a cold, or worse yet, a fever. That would only complicate things further.

He did feel envious of the horse in that moment, for she seemed to enjoy the breeze. Brogr had the nagging feeling that if the animal could speak then it would tease him to no end.

Oh, if only general Tyr did not announce the changing dates of the graduation! He would still be back in the barracks now, preparing for them and being happy in his soul to know that he would finally be a man grown, able to do what he pleased.

His musings were interrupted by the sudden crackle of lightning, and a drop of water landed on his nose, followed by another, and another again.

"Fuck!" Brogr cursed as he urged the mare to go faster. The small cluster of trees that he saw from a distance seemed to be his only cover to escape the torrent of rain that was imminent to come.

He nearly began to gallop, but luckily he managed to get to the small forest. The trees were close and thick enough that the branches and leaves formed a natural roof over his head that kept nearly all of the water from cascading down, except for a couple of spots where the clear liquid managed to successfully infiltrate itself and fall down.

Pulling on the reins to stop the horse, he briefly pushed his feet into the stirrups to brace himself, and once the animal was completely still, he dismounted. He led it to one of the trunks and securely wrapped a rope around one of them, before doing the same with the other end of it, tying it to the reins of the animal.  
The rope was quite long so that the mare could move over to at least a few feet away. That way it could properly eat the lush, green grass that peppered the ground, and the smith wouldn't have to worry about it walking off whilst he wasn't focusing on it.

As for Brogr, he retrieved two sets of blankets: one was lined with soft leather, while the other was the same as his bear skin. He placed the more durable sheet down first on the base of a tree so that he could prop his back up against it. Then he removed the two pelts off of his form and neatly folded them.

The smith settled into the warm, almost ticklish bed of sorts.  
It was raining hard now, and he knew full well that getting sick here of all places, would not be good. If he did get sick, he would be at risk of possibly dying, as there were no healers or seidr users here. That was one of the disadvantages of traveling through a deserted road.

Again, the crackle of lighting echoed in the lands, along with the ever increasing noises of the raindrops impacting the grounds. But the trees where doing an excellent job at keeping him dry. The only other sounds present where his own breathing and the horse's occasional snort.

His eyes started to get a little heavy, and he realized that it was due to the exhaustion and fatigue that he had accumulated in pushing himself so hard in these last few days. 

All in all, he could say that he was quite comfy, still not as good as a regular bed, (even the rigid, cotton ones of the barracks where obviously better than the hard, unchangeable surface of the ground) but considering that he was in the open countryside, that was saying something.

It did not seem like Asgard anymore, it seemed like a different place all together. There was no gold, no towering buildings and chaotic bustling of the capital city that had woken him up so many times at the crack of dawn. It felt silent, peaceful, and the consistent presence of thunder reminded him of the forge.

The forge... a small, childish part of Brogr had actually thought that he could just stay in the countryside, and camp there until his birthday so that he could purposefully stall his arrival until he turned twenty. But that idea soon died as he realized how stupid it truly was. Getting the supplies that he had was hard enough, and the trainers would surely have noticed that something was wrong if he had asked for a tent and even more food. And his father would have surely done something once he realized that the he wasn't on the returning carts. He would have probably alerted the nearby brigade, to ask for his return.

And Brogr had seen what the Einherjar were capable of doing, as he had trained alongside future ones. They would realize his idea and organize a man hunt, and who knew, maybe they would also get the valkyries involved with their winged horses if a good bounty was to be placed above his head. And when they did find him, and they would, he would be sentenced to death for breaking the king's law. 

It was still a battle that was impossible to win. And he could not do anything to change. He was useless.  
But if this was to be his fate, then he would have to accept it.

Brogr would try to find the positives in his new position: in time, if that bitch ever stopped, he would try to get out, maybe even talk with the lord that his father was working for.

Perhaps if he proved himself good enough, he could sweet talk him into expanding his influence over the particular profession, maybe set up a couple more shops here and there, try to steer the flow of coin more towards his direction. He also just might be able to convince the noble to pay for the expensive apprenticeship classes in Nidavellir if he promised that it would better his work (and it would, he'd be raving mad to let go of such a profitable opportunity) a few years down the road he could set up his own household name, and get back to completing his dreams.

Heh, it didn't seem all to bad now that he really thought it through. This was all in theory, he chided himself, there was absolutely nothing that would assure it'd go his way. 

Brogr could already feel the headache that was going to form upon hearing the shrill, haughty and damned incessant voice of Hlif. He could already picture her sneering, disgusted face upon seeing him back.

It really astounded him how his father could have ever decided to tie himself to such a foul woman, the revelation had surprised him at the time, and then deeply disappointed him as the years went on.  
But, now that he was almost a man, the smith could somehow relate to that want, that need and desire to hold someone in his arms, pull her tight to him and be happy. 

Mother's death had hit them both hard and in different ways, Brogr closed himself up even more and was ostracized by his peers, his father had started frequenting the local tavern more often than not. At some points, entire days went by that he didn't see him, and when he finally returned home, his breath reeked of mead, and his eyes were red and puffy.

But they had pulled through the tragic event: Brogr had discovered his talent for forging, and Gerril... well, he met Hlif.

Yawing, the lad turned to his side, shimming his head a little so that it comfortably laid on the makeshift "pillow" of sorts.

The thunder had stopped, but the rain still persisted, though less strong than before. He closed his eyes, simply focusing his hearing on the splattering of the droplets on the leaves. The gentle sound lulling his senses and further relaxing him, prompting his imminent arrival to the realm of sleep.

As he rested there in those final moments of consciousness, he thought back to all the events that had led up to this point, his training, his return and what might come in the future. In those moments, he sent one last prayer to the Norns, a last ditched effort in the hope of regaining their favor. He prayed for good omens, and luck for the times ahead.

When he had awoken, it wasn't raining anymore, and judging by the position of the sun in the clouded orange sky, it was late evening.

Inhaling a big breath, he relaxed upon exhaling, peacefully resting in his current spot. He didn't really want to get back up, content to simply stay there. It wasn't like Brogr would do anything noteworthy on that evening, he would just conserve his energies and focus on acting carefree for a bit.

The horse was still tied to the tree, and it was still softly munching on the grass, not that there was much left: nearly the entire clearing was devoid of grass. That animal was no true animal, it was an entire cohort's worth of appetite mixed into one single body. He truly wondered how it could fit so much food into its gullet.

His own stomach growled with hunger at that point, catching him by surprise. Huffing a bit, Brogr removed the pelt, before wearing his bearskin once more. The temperature had grown noticeably warmer, but it was still chilly. He made his way to the mare, laying a hand on its neck and giving it a few pets, to which he received no reaction, other than a curios, albeit annoyed turn of the head.

Chucking softly, he started to work on the straps of the bags tied to the saddle: "Admit it, you're glad you're stuck with me. I bet that the instructors never fed you this much, huh?" as if seemingly understating him, the horse flicked its tail at him, whipping him across the face.

Sputtering, he spit out a couple of stray hairs, muttering in anger, "Stupid horse." the mare neighed. "Oh, do shut up you lazy girl. You love me just as much..." he continued talking, still smiling. Luckily, he didn't have to dodge out of the way this time.

It took him a good five minutes to release all of the bags from their respective harnesses, but once he did, he laid them out onto the dry ground in an organized fashion. Fishing out a pair of apples from one of the containers, he walked back to his cot, sitting down on it and equipping his trusty knife.

It was still the same as always, nothing much had changed since he barely used it during his days as a recruit: he was given all the necessary tools when he required them. But now, just this once, he would use it. 

He picked up one of the apples that were placed at his side, and began to carefully peal the red skin off.   
While these last two years had been physically tough and mentally laborious, he had picked up on new sets of skills. First and foremost where the ones dedicated to survival out in the open wilderness. 

Brogr was glad that he learned all the basic teachings that were given to the cohorts, otherwise he wouldn't be out here at this time. And he did have to say that he looked a little better: he was a bit muscular in the arms and upper chest already from constantly hammering and shaping metal rods; but the training had also given the rest of his body a nice do over: his abdominal pack was much more defined that it previously was, and so was the rest of his torso. His quadriceps had reinforced and so had his calves with all the running that he was made to do. All in all he did look more handsome and attractive, in his opinion at least.

The only thing that hadn't changed much was his height: he was a little short, and lean, not stocky, but it was also seen as sign of lesser strength. Even when he talked with the women belonging to the small folk, he had to look up a tiny little bit. That wasn't counting the asgardian warriors, who all seemed to be taller than average. 

It was said that service in the training grounds most importantly, service in the armies would give both young men and women alike a growth spurt, after nothing had happened he supposed that it was all just a hoax.

As he cut off the last bit of skin, Brogr saw a worm that was burrowed in the pulp of the fruit, the end of it wiggling in the air. Making a disgusted face at it, he cut off the chunk of it and threw it far away; he didn't want any ants to come and start infesting the pelts, there was absolutely no need for that!

He divided the rest of the apple into pieces, making sure that there were no other bugs.

When it was all cleared and done, he finally took a dainty bite out of the fresh fruit, munching it to tiny pieces before sending it all down with a gulp. It was a little tangy, but pleasant nonetheless.

He ate some more of the apple, until nothing but the stem was left, chucking that away as well. It was then that Brogr became aware of how dry his throat was, and, deciding that it most definitely a nice feeling, he grabbed his waterskin, unscrewed the cork and took a deep gulp of the beverage, which immediately took its desired effect.

The setting sun provided a nice landscape, along with an even better view. It also signaled him that it was time to start a fire, lest he wanted to brave the cold, harsh winds of the night. 

Finding good sticks and dry grass proved to be a bit challenging this time around: it was spring, and nature was blooming once more. In some occasions he even had to make do with what he had, and was forced to come up with creative solutions to particular problems. But everything that he was using now was wha the had already learned back at the training grounds. 

If Cnut had been here, he would have already made a campfire in no time...

Brogr's face saddened, his movements briefly stopping mid motion before continuing his trek forward. He hadn't spoken to him since the previous evening, and they hadn't even reconciled in the morning.

The smith had realized that he may have been too harsh in that moment, too lost in his rage and frustrations to think and see clearly. Blinded by his own thoughts and worries to even pause and consider what the red-haired lad must have been thinking. 

But it was also true that what Cnut had done had jeopardized his position and future plans. And in giving in to his emotions, he pushed away the only other kindred spirit in the camp. He very much doubted that they would ever meet again...  
Their lifestyles were marginally different: he was used to the busy, stressful life of the populated areas whilst Cnut was used to the open, deserted fields of grain. 

And even if he did try to make a valiant effort to contact him, nothing assured him that the farmer would greet him with open arms: he may just even push him away just as hard as he had done.

In essence, Brogr had messed up good. It seemed as if it was a trait that ran down the family line.

The logs were placed against each other and he grabbed a medium sized chunk of flint. With the knife, he began to scrape at the solid stone, trying to get the sparks to catch the leaves on fire.

After a few failed attempts, a small flame formed, and Brogr quickly placed another piece of wood on it, so that it would expand, and pushed it into the heart of the pyramidal shaped wooden structure.

As the distinctive crackling of wood started to emanate, the blacksmith placed a set as stones around the edge of the fire, so that they would act like a defensive barrier, effectively trapping the fire in its location.

Puffs of smoke rose up to the sky, quickly losing themselves with the oppressive white of the clouds.  
Seeing as there was still light, Brogr pulled out a large, wool blanket, which he placed on top of the mare, so that it wouldn't freeze.

"You could at least deign me some gratitude. I believe some thanks would be in order here." he muttered, more to himself, than to the horse.

He also tied the horse closer to his bedpost, so that the heat could better reach it. 

Later, when he had sat down after eating his dinner, he took out a piece of parchment, along with his quill and pot of ink. The smith briefly brought the glass case close to the fire, flicking his finger at it so that the oily, black substance would melt and collect on its base and not its walls.

Opening it, dipped the tip of the feather into it, turning his attention to the paper that was laid out in front of him. 

Silently, he began to write.

"It is a particular time in which I find myself reflecting on past deeds and events.  
This may be a sign, that I'm going mad, but there isn't much of anyone else to talk to. Except for the mare, but she isn't one to really enjoy courtesies from my recent experiences.  
It is fascinating in a way to see how different life can be both in, and outside the cesspool of vipers that is the capital, but aye, I fear that coming out here alone, with no companions or weapons was a not so bright idea.   
Once again I find myself tormented by my emotions, at how intrusive they are and of how rash they make me be. Mother used to be a little like this, from what father has told me. When they were both still as young as I am. It would seem as if I took this trait from her.   
Just the other day, I managed to spur the only friend I have had in these past two years away. And it was still because of my emotions. If I have to write honestly, then I must say that I write because of my guilt, of what I've done to Cnut.  
It wasn't meant to go like this, I didn't want it to. But it is because of him that I now find myself traveling back to a place where I know I will be forced to obey. To do things that don't hold an ounce of significance to me.  
The Norns seem to naturally spite me, even if I've been a respectful follower for my entire life. And who knows, maybe they are reading this, maybe they're reconsidering their decisions.  
When I was sent to go train and graduate, I had hoped that I could at least find other people who could relate to my conditions. Alas, the dissatisfaction and disappointment of it continue to bedevil me.  
And as I continue to scribble down my feelings and thoughts onto this piece of paper, I can't help but shiver and scoot closer to the fire; the night is getting chillier.  
I don't suppose that anyone will ever find this note, and even if it is found, I foresee that I will be long gone and buried under the ground before such a day comes. Some extremist loyalists to the crown would surely consider this piece of text to be of the highest sacrilege, words of sin uttered by an oath breaker and coward.   
While I cannot express the full scope of my distrust in the royal family as a citizen, I may as well do it under an anonymous cover.   
Reading over this a couple of more times, I've noticed that there isn't a single cohesive thread of thought into this. It probably would appear to be simple ramblings and useless phrases and quotes written by a fool, and maybe they are.   
But as long as I get to open up a bit, and talk honestly to myself, I will be happy with whatever will end up on this mess of a diary page.  
And now, the end of the page has been reached. How dulling of a revelation this is... I'd want to write down some more, but it would be best not to consume the other reserves of unused paper that I have."

He ended his task at that point, shifting a bit in his seated state. The smith tapped his fingers against the bone of his knee, beating them along the beats of a rhythm. He was contemplative in that moments, scrolling his eyes down on the gruff, heavy and incomprehensible handwriting of his.

Brogr had never been excellent with his calligraphy, much to his father's displeasure. He often seemed to forget of the fragility of the quills, and ended up snapping them in half, his digits simply being to used to gripping the lead grip of a hammer. 

But he tried his best to at least write in a decent enough manner. And it calmed him on certain aspects, worked like the medicine a healer would produce.

Taking a look around, he realized that the moon was rising, and that the temperatures were lowering. Sighing, he rolled up the parchment and placed it in a satchel. 

The additional wood fueled the fire, and would work to keep it burning for a few more hours. This gave Brogr the freedom to once again enter his particularly constructed bed, and lay low for the rest of the day.

The next morning, he got up, stretched and flexed his limbs, so that the blood could better circulate in his veins. 

He didn't spend a lot of time eating his meager breakfast, not that he necessarily needed it. The last embers of the flames were withering away, only blacked ash and dust were left.

He took out the piece of parchment once more, looking over it. Unsure of what to do with it, much less where to put it, he started to look over the trees, searching for some kind of cavity.

Indeed he found one. A small, round hole that went past the bark of the trunk and into the core of the plant itself. It was here that Brogr placed the rolled up page in a leather basket, and pushed it into the gaping crevice.

Hopefully it would remain intact, untouched by the numerous vermin and bugs that lived in these trees.   
Taking out his knife, he began to carve out two letters: B. G.

His initials. No one would ever find out that it was him who had composed the piece. He would take that secret with him to the grave. The Norns would have to give him that at the very least.

The weather was once again stormy, but luckily it wasn't as humid as the day before. It was a risk yes, but the smith was willing to bet that it wouldn't rain again. 

And so he began to strap all of his gear and belongings to the horse, the animal grumbled a bit and snorted. "Yes, poor you, it's not like I let you rest for the majority of yesterday."

He began to lead the mare away from the small forest like cluster. The pathway that led to the capital was just up ahead, and if the map was correct than another couple of days of travel would get him straight back to the golden city.

"Easy now girl. We're going to do this like before, calm, calm..." he muttered, giving a quick, soothing rub to her side, placing his right foot into the according stirrup, and hoisting himself up with some effort.

The brown colored animal didn't dash away or rear up on its hind legs, luckily for him, but it did bob it's head up and down a bit, causing Brogr to grasp at the reins and attempt to reign the horse in.

"What is it with you today? It doesn't have to be this hard!" he growled out, finally managing to keep her still. "Are you done? Can we get moving?" 

The mare began to trot forward then, seemingly uncaring for the previous hardship. The blacksmith shook his head in disbelief, "Unbelievable..." 

Asgard, outside the city walls...

The city was already in sight, the shine more so, partially blinding him several times.

The last days hadn't been that kind to him: when traversing over a hilly area he had been stalked and later chased by a pack of wolves. They had been ruthless in their pursuit, and when he did succeed in losing them, he let the mare rest for a long time, the action having exhausted her quite a bit.

That caused a bit of a delay in his arrival, but now, now it was finally over.

Unfortunately, he did not find a river, or a body of water for that matter, to bathe in. He stunk quite a bit, and he could smell it. Still , he prepared himself, his stomach already forming knots.

Getting past the massive defensive structure proved easy enough, as he had to simply show the testament that confirmed his graduation, signed by Vidkunnsson. The guards didn't give him problems, but they sniggered a bit at his state. 

After giving the horse back, he asked for directions to where the noble his father was working for lived, and he found out, much to his surprise, that his residence was in one of the wealthier locations of the city.

Not that the poorer districts were not wealthy: the one in which he lived was considered poor because of the lack of gold plating, but that didn't mean that it lacking in silver.

Even the residents here were dressed in much finer robes of silk. And he received a lot of disgusted looks, based off of his appearance. 

Wordlessly, he approached a large building, already dreading the conversation that was going to inevitably happen.

But he pushed the door of the shop open anyways, resigning himself to his fate. 

Almost as if the Norns willed it, he came face to face with Hlif...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to try and give myself the goal to write 750 words a day, which should give out an average of 5k word chapters (if I am able to keep myself to the weekly schedule)


	9. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brogr returns home, and a much needed talk is had.

Asgard, inner district...

A sneer had been plastered on her face, clearly disgusted and annoyed at seeing him, but she masked it by thinning her lips into a line. If she thought that she could so easily fool him like that, then she clearly hadn't known him well enough: he wasn't that gullible, not as much as his father at least.

"Brogr, how nice to... see you." in that moment he would've wanted nothing more than to sock her across the face, to wipe that fake smile off of her mouth. But he didn't, and merely exhaled through his nose. 

"Oh dear Hlif, who has entered the... oh! My son! Oh come here, let me look at you, you've grown so much in these last two years!" Gerril entered the room and sauntered over to him, bringing him into a hug, which he stiffly returned, all the while still glaring at Hlif. 

His father was so enraptured in seeing him again that he didn't realize the tension that was sparking in the room.

To keep up with the facade, he turned his attention to the older man, "I've barely grown in height, I'm still as much of the same as I was in the past." it was forced, Norns it sounded so bad to his ears as well but Gerril didn't bat an eye, still completely oblivious to the act.

In that moment another lady at the door, much like Hlif if her dress and way that she walked were any indication, came to the front door, calling her over; confirming the smith's suspicions.

"Lord Alrik is waiting for us at the district's town hall. He brought his other noble friends as well, and have invited us to the play scheduled at dinner."

And soon enough the two were off, talking and giggling like maids as they were made to enter a large, and luxuriously decorated carriage. The amount of gold made Brogr want to vomit.

"Off she goes..." Gerril sighed with satisfaction, and the smith darted his eyes at him, "How often does this happen?" "Everyday." he narrowed his gaze a bit: "And you don't think that these... noble friends aren't trying to woo her?" his father adopted an offended look: "Odin's beard, no! What would make you think that Brogr? You may be a blacksmith but I didn't raise a simpleton!" 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. His fears had been confirmed, and his father had worsened in this regard. He wondered, just how did it get to this point?

But Gerril was already walking away, motioning for him to follow. "The lord I've been working for, Ulvkilsson, he knows of your talents for forging. The house is built with a smithy down on the lower second level. He was generous enough to have it restructured with the latest equipment, so that it would easily fit your needs. Oh, and place your packages over there on that chair, there's no need to carry all of it to the lower levels." he said pointing at the cushioned seat.

After walking down a couple flights of stairs (still very large and made out of polished stone) he pushed open a beautifully handcrafted oak door. 

Inside was the forge, and it left him speechless: it was large, far bigger than the previous one; the walls were lined with hammers, and saws and other instruments of different sizes and shapes, some he didn't even know existed.

The forge itself was large, enough so that he could easily work on four separate projects at the same time, Norns, there were five anvils! 

Gerril saw his amazement, "Pretty impressive, right?" he asked, coming to stand next to him.

But a doubt arose: while all of it was fantastic, he... he wasn't experienced enough with a good portion of these things. What was more was the fact that the forge was clearly made to be operated by several people, not one single blacksmith.

"Father I... I... this is too much, I need help to use it, to use all of it." his shoulders were clasped and the older man brought him close: "Son, I know this seems frightening, but I know that you'll do well. Besides, Hlif has already brought in some commissions." 

He was shocked, "Already? From who?" "Some other nobles, most likely the ones she's with at this moment." 

Brogr turned around to hide the way his teeth were gritting.   
It was an insult, and it started to make much more sense. He turned to towards him, trying to keep a steady voice so that his anger wouldn't creep out.

"And they will pay, right? They will pay the rightful sum that these weapons will be worth, correct?" his father looked at him as if he had grown two heads.

"No, of course not. These are meant to be gifts, you don't pay for gifts." his nails were digging into his palms, threatening to cut through the skin and make it bleed. 

"Tell me father, because I still fail to understand, will I have to do commissions, actual commissions that don't include free presents like these?" his site looked pensive for a moment, before answering with confidence: "Well, you won't have to work for these other customers, you'll have all the time in the ten realms to focus your attention on these pieces." 

He wanted to scream in that moment, his rage was getting the better of him, "Father, I need you to be clear with me: am I going to forge for money? Is this smithy going to be an actual smithy? Will we sell and do publicity like we previously have?" 

"In your words we could do something- "Yes or no? It's a simple answer!" his voice was getting louder and louder, he was nearly shouting.

"I don't know why you are so preoccupied with this, no, we are not going to. As I previously said, you will work on these gifts."

Brogr whirled around, grabbed the nearest object to him, a hammer, and threw it at his father with a savage yell.

Gerril ducked under the flying object, and it banged against the wall, cracking some of the stone and falling to the ground with a loud thud. 

He looked at him with wide eyes, fear evident in them, "Have you gone mad?! Have you lost your wits?!" he screamed at him, the temper his family was famously know for fully emerging now.

"Have you gone mad! I am the one that's supposed to ask that! Not you!" he pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"You, you are a fool! Can't you see that that bitch is using you?! Using us?!" his father got back up as well, fear gone as his 'betrothed' was brought into the argument. "Hlif is not using us, if anything she's the reason we're here now, you are the one that's being useless!" he said, marching straight up to him, nearly touching their foreheads together, "That whore is spreading her legs to those pompous shits! She is taking advantage of my skills as a smith to seduces that band of nobles! She cares not for anyone but herself, she is a vile devil that will do anything to sate her lust for greed! How can you not see that? Are you fucking blind?!" 

In his entire life, Gerril had never raised a hand to beat or educate Brogr, he never had a reason to. But now, that was going to change.

The older man lunged at his sun, hands gripping at his shoulders, intent on wrestling him to the ground. However, after years of torment, Brogr had grown tired of all of this shit, and he punched him in the face, breaking his nose. 

Growling, he took advantage of his dizziness and yanked him out of the door, slamming it shut. Immediately, he dragged over a heavy chest, grunting with effort as he did, and pushed it against the door.

His father began to furiously pound on the wood, "Brogr! Brogr! Open the damn door!" but the smith was pressing his back to the frame of it, preventing Gerril from coming it.

After a couple of tense minutes, the patriarch finally gave up: "Fine! Stay here and pout like a child!" he roared before climbing back up the stairs.

Still unsure of it, Brogr placed a few more chests, essentially creating a barrier at the entrance. He stalked around, his rage still burning hot, as he pulled on his hairs, angry red tears welling up in his blue eyes. 

He slammed his fist on the table and it trembled under the force of the blow. The blacksmith tried to calm down, deeply breathing and making a valiant effort to cast his thoughts elsewhere.

Brogr needed to be alone in this moment, he needed to think this through properly. The smith couldn't afford himself to break down now, it would only be a waste of time if he did. 

He would have to plan now, for whatever new eventuality or unforeseen change. It was critical that he developed a series of plans and strategies.   
Contingencies for what was to come.

But he would have to act smart about it, so pulled a chair over and simply started to concentrate on the forge, his mind alight with questions and potential answers.

At the moment the most optimal thing to do would to try to know if it was his father who actually talked to the lord about him, and not that rotten bitch. Unfortunately, that was highly unlikely, given that it would be damn near impossible to schedule a meeting with the high born. Plus, there was no genuine reason for the lord to want to talk to him.

In essence, it was a dead end, so he took a couple of mental steps back, reevaluating his approach. The only other logical thing to do would be to speak with his father, and try to work something out, maybe try to pass on his own agenda.

Great... throwing that hammer at him didn't seem like such a good idea anymore... and judging by the lack of noise from upstairs, his parent had left. Probably to a tavern. He liked to drink when he was mad. Not a pleasant combination, not in any sense of the word.

Sighing, he recollected himself, grabbing the hammer and placing it back onto the table. He looked at the wall, cringing at the sight of the broken stone.  
He placed the chests back in their original positions, making sure to be a tad bit more gentle with them: there were marks on the floor from where he had dragged them. 

Brogr opened the door and went to the ground floor. As expected, no one was there. At least his bags still where though. He grabbed a coat, its coloring being that of a dull, dark grey. His 'ancestral' knife found a home in his pocket, and so did the documents proving his graduation from the training grounds, he had a nagging feeling that he would need them in the very near future. 

As a test, he tried to open the door, but it was locked. Unsure of what to do, he turned around and started to look around the room, in search for a spare key.

Brogr took this time to also really observe the style and furniture of the place. While it was all greedily decorated, something that irked him to no end; he had to admit that it was quite fashionable, and he did marvel a bit at it. This seemed like a major boost to his living conditions.

Still, it did not give him an excuse to stay there, lazily looking for the key, and soon enough he found it.

Feeling a little more confident at having accomplished the task, even if it was a small one, he unlocked the door, exited the building and closed it behind him, locking it once more. He doubted that there were any thieves here, but it was best not to try his luck.

The man took a deep breath once more, hoping to take away some of the stiffness in his muscles. And with that, he took a step forward, and began to walk.

Again, now that he took the time to go slowly, he could really notice all of the differences between the two districts he had been at. It was obvious that he didn't belong in this area that was reserved to the higher classes of the social ladder. 

His plain clothing made him stick out like a sore spot, a black dot in an otherwise beautiful painting.  
The other citizens he passed by wrinkled their noses at him, and he heard comments that were made to insult his appearance and odor, but he paid them no mind.   
After working himself to death for the last two years with a pack of frothing instructors who went as far as to physically hit him, this didn't seem even half as bad. But it did get on his nerves, and all it did was remind him of unjust system that was in place.

"You, stop." ordered a voice to his left. Brogr looked at the direction, seeing a group of einherjar making their way to him, armor gleaming in the sunlight.

Six of them to be precise, they came up to him, one moving to his back and another to his front, essentially caging him in on all sides except for his right, trapping him like if he were some kind of animal.

"Can I help you?" he kept his voice calm and neutral, as to not irk them; based solely on their current rank as part of the elite army, he could tell that these had been cadets, that meant that they were better trained than he was. That wasn't even taking on consideration the fact that they looked to be much, much older than him; and most importantly, the obvious difference in armament.

There was no possible way for him to escape with his life if he were to attack them. Norns, he'd already be dead before he even landed a single blow.

Around them, a small gathering of people was forming: many were pointing their fingers at him, along with the incessant muttering that all these stuck up people seemed to continuously do; he was getting tired of it.

The guard to his left looked down on him, and in that moment Brogr cursed his short height.   
"We've had several complaints of you disrupting the local peace, which would be against the king's law"

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, "Sir, I don't mean to offend anyone here: I am no minister of law, but even I know for certain that simply walking and avoid talking to anyone does not count as an infringement."

That still did not seem to calm the soldier,so he decided to give more information: "I am aware that my clothing does not fit the standard one of this district, but the truth is that I've only just entered this section, and I can prove it too."

To make his point, his hand went to grab the documents that were stuffed in his pocket, but the guard next to him unsheathed her blade and placed the razor sharp edge of it against his neck, the cool metal of the sword kissing his skin along a straight line.

He froze, relaxing his hand to show that he was going to cooperate, "Alright, all the information you need is in the pant's pocket, the one to my right, yes, that one." he said, guiding the einherjar with his directions.

She took the paper out, unfolding it and looking at the text of it. Wordlessly, she shared a look with the officer of higher rank, and gave the document to him.

"It looks that we have a recruit here... freshly graduated as well." the leader of the group stated, speaking out loud; "Hmm... it is interesting. But it does not tell me why you are... it's not like the crown wold allow useless shit stains like you to openly patrol the streets. And if you're an undercover agent than you're doing a horrible job, but that's to be expected considering your training." he finished with a snigger, generating a few chuckles from his lackeys.

Annoyed, Brogr reached out to retrieve the parchment, but the asshole yawned and stretched his arms upwards, raising the paper out of the smith's reach due to his taller height. He was clearly making a fool out of him, and his blood boiled.

Resigning himself, he simply presented his open hand, focusing his stare on the officer, just waiting for him to end this pathetic parade.  
When the other man pretended to not notice his awaiting limb, Brogr's patience began to wane away.

"Sir. That document is my property." he said, being done with all of this crap. "Oh, how terribly glum you are, can't even be lighthearted enough to get a simple joke." the einherjar lamented.

Brogr went to grab it, but the soldier let it fall through his fingers, a shit eating grin still present on his lips, "Whoops, my bad."

He leaned down to finally grab it, dusting it off a bit and blowing. They were precious papers.  
At that point he openly scowled at him and placed the signed scrolls back into their designated places.

Brogr shifted his stance a little bit, so that he could pass by the warrior without touching him, and he would have made it out, hadn't the other suddenly stuck out his foot, causing him to trip and fall down hard, knocking the air out of him.

Cheeks burning he got up and briefly let out a gurgle of surprise when he was yanked back by the coat, its tied cord coming to press against his windpipe and cutting off his airflow.

"Never address me as sir again, it is officer to you!" the einherjar growled, letting him go and punched him in the back of the head, metal gauntlet and all, sending him crashing to the floor once more.

Brogr coughed, rubbing his sore throat, mildly aware at the fact that a couple soldiers had spit on him before leaving. 

The crowd resumed their walking, but a few still stared down on him like if he was a dying ant.

He got up, groaning a bit as the entire back of his head felt as if it had been hit with war hammer. Norns did it hurt!

The graduated recruit staggered a little upon taking his first steps forward, but successfully regained his balance and continued on at a normal pace.

It did not stop him from trying to soothe the bruise that he was sure had formed. Rubbing small circles around it didn't seem to be helping much, and he was willing to bet all of his coin that it was already swelling.

He would need to place some ice on it. Preferably soon. But he was this far out of the building his father lived in; he would just complete his goal now that he was so close to ending it.

And after a few minutes of walking, he finally came up to a tavern, a large and prestigious one at that. He was grateful that he had been given a map of the district upon returning his equipment to the guards at the city wall. During his travel to get to the new location, he had studied the framework of the buildings, keeping in mind a few points of potential interest. And it had paid off.

He walked up to the front door, obviously being grand and opulent, meant to attract one's eye.  
It was however strange, the fact that he couldn't smell booze or mead emanating from the shop. But he entered, and was blinded by the ridiculous amount of shiny, gold trinkets scattered all over the large room. But it was clean, and tidy as well.

The patrons of the place also seemed to be well mannered enough: there was no boisterous laughing, or drunk yelling and screaming. The volume of the talking was kept to a low buzz, that was even pleasant to the ear.

Brogr scanned the numerous round tables, his blue eyes wandering over the many men, and women, seated at them, all enjoying their beverage of choice.

At last, he noticed Gerril, who was alone, looking glumly into his large cup. It was unexpectedly full, which meant that he had yet to even take a sip. Brogr didn't know if he wanted to consider that a good or bad thing: it would either be easier to speak to him sober, or it would prove to be much more challenging, since he was using his wits to their full capabilities, unaltered by the alcoholic drink.

He came to a chair and plopped down on it, sitting across from him. His father spared him a glance, but directed his gaze elsewhere once he recognized him.  
The lad steepled his fingers, unsure of how to really proceed. His strategy didn't seem as sound as it was before.

"I apologize. I acted stupidly and I realize that." he began, throwing the neutral statement out in the open, to test the waters.

His father deigned him of recognition, locking eye contact. "Is that all? If it is then you can leave, I don't have anything to tell you." he drank from the cup, his mustache was covered in foam, but he wiped it off with the back of his palm.

"Do you want a drink?" he pointedly glanced at his glass, "Here, go buy yourself one. And while you're at it get me another cup of mead, from the fresh batch." he slid a couple of silver pieces on the wooden table; they skidded and came to a rest when they hit his hands.

Brogr sighed, already disliking the direction the conversation was beginning to take. "Father, please, I need you to be lucid for this talk to happen. Just let us speak like adults and I'll leave you to your drinking." that seemed to have some effect on him, for he grumbled and set his mead aside.

"Very well, I'm listening." he crossed his arms, looking very much bored. "As I was saying, I acted rashly. But you have to take in consideration my point of view: from the position in which I am, I have little to no say on what happens, what I do or what I work for." he started, trying to come off as neutral as possible.

Gerril scoffed: "That's the order of this realm. It is the law, same as it was in Svartalheim, same as it is here. You never complained, why now?" 

He pushed aside the urge to gnaw his teeth and kept his lips sealed shut, letting out a sigh, his nostrils flaring a little.  
"I am nearly a man grown, in little more than a month, I'll be an adult." "And that still doesn't change anything Brogr. Your are my son, I am your father; you will listen to me." in that moment the lad ramens his parent's stubborn attitude. It was making things much more complicated than they need be.

"Alright, you don't want to discuss about that. Fair, I will accept your stance on it. But what I don't accept, is the conditions in which you are placing me; I cannot live, not fully, this way."

The older asgardian leaned his head back, closing his eyes in mild annoyance. "This, is what doesn't make sense to me. You have a proper forge, with more materials and equipment than what I could have ever provided you in our previous residences, here and outside of the capital realm. Why must you make such a tantrum? Is this not what you've always wanted?" 

Brogr rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Yes, forging is my profession, and under different circumstances I would ecstatic about it; try to think though, is still all that I want?" he pleaded to him. 

His father snapped his eyes open once more, "Then what, Brogr, what is it that you desire so much? Is it gold? Is that the reason for why you are so adamant of working free of charge?" he spat out, fury beginning to spill out, but the smith anticipated this, bringing forth his reasoning: "Yes, among other things. What I want, is to be my own person." that confused him, and for the moment anger was replaced with surprise.

Brogr continued to talk, looking to keep the lead of the conversation, "What I mean by that, is the fact that I've never been anyone else but your helpful servant. While you are my father, and I would still gladly do it, you must realize that I've been laboring like a housemaid for the past few years. Judging by the conditions of your new house, I'd dare to say that you have actual servants to take care of those mundane tasks. But for all of my life, all of my blood, sweat and tears have been used to forward your goals and wants."

Gerril seemed ready to retort, but the smith wasn't tired of talking just yet: "And let's just say, actually no, let us imagine of what could happen. We end this conversation, drink a couple glasses of mead each, and head back to our new home. Tomorrow, I begin to work on the commissions that... Hlif" he muttered the word out like if it were venom, "has provided, and they are for those nobles, gifts and all is meant good and well. But what if she comes back with other commissions, more gifts? What then? I'll have to continue because you've bound me obey to her commands regarding the smithy. Who is to say that one day, twenty years from now I'll still be doing that same exact thing?" 

He then spoke again, in a much softer tone of voice: "Father, I care for you. All of this rebellious attitude that I've been having is against her: I don't trust her, I'm afraid of what she might do to me, and especially to you. When I first met her, all that time ago, I tried to give her a chance. Even at that instant, I knew that she would never replace mother, but I still tried to give her a chance; but time after time she's show me her true colors, she's not the person you think she is."

"If I can't have confirmation that I'll work for coin and sell, I cannot know if I'll be able to support us. What happens if she leaves us? What will we do? How will that affect you? As I work to build myself up as a proficient and talented blacksmith, I'll be self sustaining, and if you are ever in need, I will be able to help you."

Brogr reached forward, gripping Gerril's closed fist and gently squeezed, "I worry for you father, I know that you were devastated when mother died, and I fear of what will happen should something like that happen. She was your wife. And you're the last living, breathing connection that I have to her. Please, if not for me, then do it for her. Please father."

His eyes were threatening to release a torrent of tears accumulated from months of pent up emotion. In that moment he presented himself at his most vulnerable. In that moment they weren't men, no... they were simply a son desperately trying to save his father.

Gerril stares back at him, his own tears welling up in his blue eyes. He placed his hand on top of Brogr's and gave a squeeze as well.

"Alright... I'll think about it... you... you have a point. I'll discuss with the lord Ulvkilsson. I will see if he is willing to open the shop as a proper forge. Maybe we can turn this into something productive, like when we were in Svartalheim." Brogr nodded, and the smile that was etched on his mouth was a true, honest one.

"About what I asked you earlier, do you still want that drink?" he shook his head, "Nay... I'm feeling tired, it's been a long trip. I need to bathe as well. Is there useable water?" "Yes, ask the servants and they shall prepare a bath for you."

They stood there like that, the smith tapped his fingertips on the table a bit, secretly brimming with joy. He got up, fixing his coat a little bit, and walked around the round piece of wood so that he could stand in front of Gerril.

The older man got up and they embraced, but stopped when a hand was pressed to the back of Brogr's head, causing him to hiss in pain.

"Are you hurt? Do you need help?" he asked, confused as to why there was a bruise on his son's skull. He gave him a quick smile, reassuring him that it was fine, so they embraced once more, this time in a less painful way.

"I love you father." "So do I Brogr, so do I."

After that, he made his way out of the shop and into the open street. It was a surprise really, how things had taken such a good turn of events. And the blacksmith felt hopeful for what was to come. He could patch things up now.

As he continued to walk, he still received the same glares and heated looks, but he still ignored them, and kept to himself, proceeding onward to his destination, moving with a slightly faster pace than before, not wanting to be stopped by other einherjar

Finally, some half an hour later, he made it to his new home, and entered the front door, locking it behind him. He noticed that his bags were not on the chair anymore. Someone was inside.

Silently, he took out the single edged knife, tightly gripping it in his hand. 

"Is there anyone present?" he spoke loud and clear, and he heard shuffling coming from down the hallway that lead to the rest of the large building.

A thin, lanky man came forth, a little older than him by the looks of it, eyeing him with some suspicion, though he hid it well. "Can I help you good lad?" be cautiously asked.

"Yes, you can start by explaining who you are and why are you here." he pressed showing the blade in his hand, indicating that he was serious. 

That seemed to confuse the stranger, for he looked at him with more mistrust than before. "When I left earlier today, all of my bags where there." he pointed at the completely bare piece of furniture, "Which means that you've done something with it. So why are you here, and more importantly, how did you get in?" he asked once more, his voice assuming a darker tone.

"Ah, forgive me then, you are master Gerril's son, correct?" the man was definitely more tranquil now. "Yes, I am, and... you are?" he asked again for the second time.

"I am Thangbrand Vifilsson master Brogr, I am one of the servants." he explained, gesturing to himself to prove his point.

"Very well. Pleased to meet you Thangbrand." he lowered the knife placing it back inside his pocket. He instead took out the key he had used to get in. The servant's eyes widened a little at seeing the metal object, and assumed a look of relief. 

"Oh, good will of the Allfather. I had begun to worry in not finding that anymore. If it would please you master Brogr, I'll take that back to its rightful place, and I will take your coat so that it may be properly cleaned by the housemaids." "Alright, but stop that." "Stop what master?" "That Thangbrand. Don't call me master, please. I'm not a noble nor lord, just a simple citizen." 

It was still to early to tell, but he liked this man well enough. But he would still have to check first to see who much importance he gave to the crown. Couldn't have him going around alerting all manner of warriors of his supposed 'treachery'.

"My father told me that there is running water. Would you be so kind to please prepare a bath? I reek of sweat and shit." the other man nodded, moving to another room, carrying his dusty coat.

"Master Gerril is right indeed, there is clean water." but there was something that still confused, "Does my father ask you to call him that?" Thangbrand gave him a troubled look, "It doesn't seem like something he would do."

"Truth to be told, it is mistress Hlif that orders us to address them in such a manner." his brows furrowed together: "But don't you own your service to lord Ulvkilsson first and foremost? You could simply not listen to her." 

"Mistress Hlif... has some close relations to the son of the lord. That gives her some leeway to do as she pleases." he frowned at that.

"Well we certainly can't have that now can we? Don't worry about it, I'll do something so that she stops." he explained, but the servant didn't seem to be that hopeful.

"Really, don't worry. Everything is under control. But since we are talking about it, tell me, how do the other people view her?" he asked him.  
"Do you want the full truth or the toned down version?" "Full truth." "Some others have come to call her a rotten bitch, and other such names." 

He cracked a smile, "I just so happen to call her that as well, small realm we live in huh?" they finally reached a room at the end of the wooden floor, and Thangbrand opened the door to reveal a spacious interior, including a couple of copper tubs.   
Brogr was very pleasantly surprised; he has never had the pleasure of bathing in one of these machines but had heard wonders about them.

"Please come here, tell me how warm you would like the water to be." the skinny man said, gesturing to a few valves and hoses. He began to turn one and a small trickle of water started to dribble out of the end of the hose. Experimentally, he placed a finger under the gentle stream, nodding his head when the temperature was to his liking.

Thangbrand placed the hose inside the tub, opening the valve some more so that the flow of water became stronger. Brogr stared around the room, searching for some bars of soap. "I will bring you some new clothing, if that is alright with you. I shall leave them just outside of the door." "That's fine, you can just enter, I don't really care. Privacy wasn't a common thing at the training grounds, I'm used to it."

And soon enough he was humming in satisfaction, soaking in the tub and marveling at the pleasant feel of it all. It relaxed his muscles, so much so that the ache at the back of his head assumed a second thought, almost being forgotten altogether.

But he was still diligent and cleaned himself, scrubbing the bar of soap up and down his skin, passing it under his armpits and around his crotch. He put in an additional amount of effort in cleaning the soles of his feet, which had lost their pink hue with all of the grime that was caked on them.

After some time, he got out of the water, it wasn't crystal clear anymore, and that just showed how dirty he truly was.  
He grabbed a pelt, and began to rub it on his body, removing all of the traces of water that were on his being. 

He passed his fingers over the hairs that littered around the sides of his jaw and under his chin. He hadn't shaved in a few days and it showed. He didn't know if he wanted to trim the beard that was beginning to form, but he decided not to at the moment.

In that moment he imagined what he would look like sporting a braid. He probably resemble the dwarves of Nidavellir. 

But he dressed with the soft cloths and exited the room, spotting his father at the end of the corridor. But he also noticed a screeching voice next to it.  
Silently, he approached Gerril and the woman that was with him.

"You cannot do this! He must forge the commissions I've obtained!" his father appeared exasperated, "Beloved, calm down. Brogr will forge them in due time, I've talked with lord Ulvkilsson and he told me that he is willing to try and see if this trial will bear any fruits. If it doesn't work, he will make all the weapons he could possibly ask for."

"Good evening." Brogr made his presence known to the two. The selfish she-devil locked her eyes at him, and seemed ready to yell at him, "Hlif, don't blame him for this, he didn't convince me of anything."

Just then, they were interrupted by knocking, coming from the front door.

Gerril walked over to it, and opened the door, surprised to see an einherjar warrior. Behind him, he could make out a cart full of other soldiers. 

"Is Brogr Gerrilsson present?" he asked, moving inside the house as Gerril stepped back. "Yes. I'm here." the smith announced.

The warrior took out a scroll, and began to read: "Under the will of Odin the Allfather, king of Asgard and ruler of the asgardian empire, all available warriors and freshly graduated trainees are to join the armies of the crown princesses Hela and Aldrif, queens of Hel and Heven respectably, in the invasion and conquest of the realm of Muspelheim."

He looked at Brogr, "The news just came in lad. Pack your belongings and say goodbye to your loved ones. We are going to war against the fire giants."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now things are starting to go downhill for our smith.   
> I’ll try to update this every monday, and I’ve given myself the new daily task of writing 900 words, for a total of 6k word chapters.  
> Please comment, as I’m willing to listen to ideas and requests.


	10. Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war against Muspelheim begins.

Asgard, near the rainbow bridge...

Brogr fastened his belt once more, making sure that it was properly interlocked with all of his protections.

It was an interesting sensation to be wearing full plate of armor and chain mail, it was something that he didn't think he would ever get used to.

At least he was given a large war axe, perfect for his fighting style, or at least that was what he liked to believe: Brogr knew very well that he would have always preferred the large, heavy and devastating blows that a hammer would give him, but the einherjar captains were pretty adamant in convincing him otherwise, insisting that an axe would be better in this setting.

It was what he was trying to focus on, and not despair. When the soldier had read the royal order, he felt as if he had been stabbed. His mind stopped, only to be hit with cold, harsh reality of the moment.

He was going to war, and along him all the ill viewed recruits. They were going to be fodder to the other armies, scouts so that they could throw meat bags at the enemy without wasting precious troops. They were cattle, no better than animals.

The large, horned helmet was heavy and made him claustrophobic, he had taken it off, breathing in the air as he sweated in dread and anticipation of the battles that would inevitably come.

Brogr swallowed, pushing down a whimper that dared to escape his throat. He didn't want to be there in that moment, he wanted to see his father... he could still feel his bone crushing hug, his voice as he assured him that he would survive and come back alive and well. And Brogr wished that it would go like that. It wouldn't... the Norns would see to it that it would go differently.

Tears painted the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill and coat the hairs of his bearded cheeks. He was afraid, he was scared.

An armored hand came and slapped him on the pauldron that covered his shoulder. He looked to see Eyvind Hroksson. He gave him a wide smile.

"If it isn't the blacksmith turned soldier! Norns, look at you, come here!" he told him, opening his arms and inviting him.  
Brogr was caught back, first at seeing his former comrade, secondly and most importantly at how unexpectedly friendly he was. The two had never been close, and generally kept to themselves.

Stiffly, he hugged him, awkwardly patting his back, "Follow me, our cohort is over here. All of the others are present as well." he told him, pushing him through rows and rows of warriors that were still gearing up and preparing for their imminent departure.

Eyvind led him to a relatively small (considering the fact that the other legions were formed by thousands of soldiers) group, the cohort of recruits of which he had trained with. He recognized familiar faces, nearly everyone he had know from his time at the training grounds was here. Brogr could spot Rota and Dotta, Asa and many more still.

For a brief instant, he was back at the barracks, and he wondered how come Cnut wasn't present. But then he remembered all that had transpired, and his surprise soured. They too greeted him warmly, some even going as far as to give him hugs and friendly pats.

It made him uneasy, he wasn't used to it. It felt wrong, because it was wrong. But he couldn't understand why.

They were all prepared and Eyvind urged him to put his helmet back on, and he did so, calming his nerves as he placed the metal piece over his head, his visions being limited some at the edges of his sides. But he ignored it, and focused on steadying himself, trying to find comfort by listening to the low, metallic noises his armored fingers made when they clacked against his equally protected palms.

An Einherjar lieutenant stepped forth, addressing both them and a few more cohorts that were next to them.

"Recruits! We are about to leave, stand up in formation and begging marching with your partnering army. We ride to victory, for the glory of the crown, under the guides of the queens Aldrif and Hela! Glory to the asgardian empire!" the man roared, followed by the echoing bellows of agreement from the hundreds of soldiers.

Brogr gave a brief look at the rainbow bridge; he had never seen it as busy as it was now: it was nearly covered from the amount of warriors and mounted cavalry that were marching on it. He could only tell that it was it because of the colorful lights that were visible on the underside of it.

The smith sighed, beginning to walk alongside his companions. The formations of the legions and cohorts were both the same in this case; ten soldiers wide, and dozens of lines deep.

Brogr was in the second front line, and he could make out the shiny, golden clad warriors of the legion in front of them. It gave him pause, and reminded him once more of the disparity between the two classes of warrior: whilst they were still armored and dressed, it looked like shit when compared to the quality of the metal that the einherjar wore, along with their capes and beautifully crafted mesh of plate, several decorative pieces were present, and offered even more protection.

The knots in his stomach only worsened the more that he thought about it, and as they made their way closer and closer to the bifrost, he began to feel sick at his core.

The blinding light of the massive machine kept blasting him in the face, it kept going on and on and on, sending more and more asgardians to their designated target.

While he did not know the limits of the quantity of people the bifrost could carry, he knew that it was a finite number. Still, with even a single legion being enough to easily subdue an entire city, it made him all the more fearful.

The blacksmith managed to turn his head a bit, to look back at the golden city; there, somewhere admits all of the large buildings was his father, worried sick for his wellbeing. It made his heart ache in sorrow.

They kept on marching at a steady pace, and soon enough they were inside the golden dome. Brogr was momentarily struck with wonder, at seeing all of the twisting cogs and machinations that continuously turned, focusing the dark energies and projecting them into a concentrated point.

And in the middle of the gargantuan room stood the gatekeeper of Asgard himself: Heimdall.  
The guardian of the bifrost was gripping Hofund, the legendary sword used to activate the machine. Bright white sparks of light soared into the space around him curving and twisting so that they resembled branches, taking the form of Yggdrasil, the world tree.

The smith had arrived to Asgard thanks to a skiff, and had never been in this room. But his amazement was broken when Asa shook his shoulder, urging him to move forward. Their cohort patiently waited in line as the legions in front of them moved forward and were transported.

Finally, it was their turn, and the curbing in his gut was nearly unbearable now. They were set in formation, eagerly awaiting for the rainbow bridge to whisk them away.

From behind him, Brogr could hear the sword being placed in the ignition of the machine again. The ground below his feet thrummed with power, the cogs spinning ever faster and then he was briefly blinded, and felt as if his soul had been pulled out of his body. 

All around him were lights, tinted with every conceivable color that he could imagine, he felt weightless, his breath caught in his throat as his blue eyes wonder over his field of view.  
He could make out the constellations and galaxies and Norns be blessed, they were the most beautiful thing he had ever layer his gaze upon.

But the feeling of wonder soon ended when he saw them quickly approaching the final section of the gap.  
One moment they were in Asgard, and the next they were in Muspelheim.

The first thing that Brogr did when his feet touched ground was cough. He wheezed, trying to breath in the air that appeared to be nonexistent. It was like inhaling the smoke of a fire. It burned his lungs and made his blue orbs water.

The einherjar lieutenant closest to them yelled, "Come on you shit stains! Move out of the fucking way!" he commanded and they began a light run, following their accompanying legion in its footsteps. 

Brogr was taken aback: it was worse than his most frightening nightmares. The sky was dark, with echoes of orange and red tainting it, giving it a horrifying yellow glow. The mountains were nothing but a charred mess, black as coal with numerous bright rivers of magma flowing in them.

It was then that Brogr began to truly appreciate the ability to wake up and be faced with a normal, sea colored sky, and as they made their way to the war camp that was being quickly set up, he looked around himself, and the dread of his situation escalated.

Scattered all over the land where the burnt corpses of Asgardian warriors, their armor once a fine gold tint was now reduced to a smoking, liquified mess of metal, and the blood, the blood stained the earth, seeping into the numerous cracks. Like wine that had fallen to the ground and settled in between the spaces present all around the edges of the tiles. 

It sickens him, and, he noticed when staring some more, the much more numerous slain fire demons. The red glow that was commonly associated with them was not there, indicating that they were lifeless. 

Screams of pain resounded over the area, forcing him to shut his eyes, Norns, they made his own blood curl, it was terrible... it made him feel petrified, and yet, he was forced to move one and keep walking.

A few hundred feet away from them were erected the numerous tents and palisades. Quick temporary wooden walls were being constructed around the camp, and Brogr could make out a few workers that were hauling stones and beginning the stone fortifications that would eventually become full, armed walls. The entirety of the camp was built to resemble a triquetra, in which the lines would act like as the perimeter of the walls and the insides would be the placement for all of the other types of housings. The space located in the middle of the geometric shape would be the grounds where the royals would reside, as it was in the deepest part of the camp and the most easily defensible and protected part. 

During his training, Brogr had been taught that this was the default shape used when raising a war camp in unknown or hostile territories, because of its advantage of being equally protected on all sides. Once the war would be over, the camps would quickly become full blown cities. Such were the origins of many towns in Svartalheim and the other conquered realms.

The smith was dumbfounded at the massive size of it, and was even more shocked at the knowledge that a majority of the camp's initial form was already completed in under less than half a day.

But the numerous ships that constantly landed and took off explained a part of it.  
They approached a part of the camp on the outer rim, the very edge of the point where the wooden defenses were being completed. 

Materials and provisions were brought and they received the order to set up their tents. And so as they had done numerous times at the training grounds already, the cohorts began to position and mount their tents, though it proved to be challenging, giving that the ash filled air kept stinging their eyes.

After half an hour of doing so, they were done, and their commanding captain came forward as they along with the legion assembled in their own separate group.

"Warriors and recruits, stand at attention!" he bellowed, and the lines moved into formation, Brogr stood up straighter, remembering the proper posture a soldier was to adopt when addressed by his superior officer.

"After much discussion and thought between the two princesses and the council of generals, it has been decided that the rest of the day shall be used to further advance and cement our new settlement. Since your are positioned in the tip of this camp's side, you shall later go out and do a patrol search, the cohort of recruits shall scout ahead at no more than twenty miles, they will accompany a group of cartographers so that they map out the surrounding territory." the captain began to speak, attracting the concentration of all that were present.

"The rest of the time shall procede as per standard protocol, this sections at the camp shall rotate and perform their duties by following the sound of the bell." he informed, indicating at a faraway tower that stood higher than any other building; even farther still, he could notice other, similar bell towers, a couple more were still being constructed. 

"You leave in five minutes, so get ready." and with that the captain walked away, followed by a myriad of guards, probably to go report the completion of his task.

The lines were quickly broken as the einherjar and recruits alike swarmed over their sections of the tents. A recruit named Steinthor was to be the leader of the cohort. Brogr recalled that he had been among the very best fighters back at the training camp. Naturally, as with everyone else, he hadn't become friends with him. He had a lust for battle and glory, and would often charge headfirst into a fight if it meant that he would receive even the slightest amount of prestige. Having him as their commander set off a lot of warnings in Brogr's head, and it made him nervous to think of all the bad situations he could find himself in because of his abysmal decision making.

"You guys, I can't believe that we're finally going on our first mission! We shall make our parents and ancestors proud!" he heard a group of recruits speaking between each other. Many were letting out shouts of excitement, and it made him wonder if they were all mad.

It was ironic that he found himself in the same squad as when he was first brought to the training grounds. The only one missing was Cnut, and his thoughts were once more invaded by a deep sense of guilt and regret. He was jealous to think that had his friend acted differently, then he wouldn't be here now.

"Let's bet, I say that I shall slay the most fire demons, forty I envision, whoever gets the lowest score at out of all of us will have to pay for drinks." Eyvind was already frothing at the mouth, just imagining himself as if he were a one man army, but Dotta quickly butted in: "You value yourself wrongly Eyvind, Rota here and I will slay a giant, not some puny little freaks that can't even reach up to your neck." she challenged him, and Brogr could already imagine that the two would bicker to no end.

"Will they even have a tavern ready by the time we get back?" surprisingly it was Ana that tried to calm the three, "I'm sure they will! Look at the speed with which they're building this camp! Dare I say we will have stone walls by the end of the week!" "Do you want to bet on that as well?" the smith shook his head in disbelief: he could it comprehend how they could so openly joke and act all carefree, this was reality! This was war, not some kind of game that would've happened back at the barracks!

"Brogr! What about you, how many shall fall beneath the mighty blows of your axe?" he was caught off guard, "I-I- what?" he asked confused, "How many giants will you kill? That large weapon on your back must count for something, right?" 

"I... less then you. I know that I will kill less than all of you." he finished his statement, deciding that it was best not to show his fear because it would be seen as treason, "And that's why I don't want to bet, I'd loose a lot of silver..." he added for good measure, hoping that it would back his claim.

His fellow recruits looked at each other, also confused as he if not more so, "Come, we're joking, you won't have to pay us a dime of anything, none of us have coin, but as soon as we win this war and go back to Asgard as winners then I will hold you accountable for our pacts!" that caused them to laugh, and Brogr chuckled as well, but it was forced.

They walked out of the camp, passing by the line etched into the ground that marked where the protective logs would be placed, out of the grounds, he could see many more legions leaving and arriving.

They followed behind the legion for a bit, before Steinthor ordered them to halt, and the formation of warriors continued on with their patrol.

As they waited for the cartographers to arrive, whispers began to emanate from the cohort as the young men and women began pointing at something in the distance.  
Brogr looked as well, straining a bit as tears kept clouding his view, and then he saw it, the beast, the monster that had ended the lives of countless innocents.

Far away, the titanic shape, covered in fur that was colored with a black that was darker than the night, was the wolf know as Fenris.

Brogr had never imagined that it would be this big, his mind was shattered at the nightmare that was queen Hela's mount. He had of course heard stories of it: the way in which it obeyed the queen and felled enemies with its claws and large teeth; of how it would always be the first to enter enemy territory and begin slaughtering entire cities, tearing apart the bodies of unfortunate victims, of how it would crush helpless beings under its massive paws.

There were rumors of it turing red during battle, for all of the blood that matted on its fur would hide the black, soaking it throughly. Brogr was thankful that the beast was on their side, and that he would never have to battle against it... hopefully.

Even if it was their supposed ally, its mere sight unnerved him deeply, and he turned around to look at the other recruits, and was shocked to see that their faces were filled with wonder and admiration, and not horror and dread.

He felt petrified, even if it was a least half a mile away from them, and then, it briefly stopped, turning its large muzzle towards their direction, and it seemed to look directly at him, almost as if smelling his fear. Brogr thought he was going to faint, he thought that it would suddenly start running towards him, intent on devouring him whole.

But it didn't, it simply returned its gaze towards the monstrosity of stone that was the war camp. Behind it, was an endless sea of figures, all clad in dark armor, with hints of a green hue between the gaps of the plating. Again, he once more heard the gasps or surprise from his fellow comrades, some saying that those were the infamous draugr, armies comprised of dead asgardian soldiers resurrected to serve faithfully and loyally to the queen of Hel and Niflheim. He did not know what scared him the most in that instance, the fact that there were actual living dead, or the possibility that he himself might become one of them upon dying, his mind and soul violated by the cruel, dark seidr magics that coursed through the blood of the Goddess of Death.

"Where is princess Hela?" "Does anyone see her?" "Where is she?" the mutterings continued to grow in volume and number, poking spikes through his mental fortitude.

Gasps where heard when a mountain of dead bodies a few feet away from them stirred, the classic telltale signs of green seidr snakes in between the corpses, entering their cold, lifeless flesh, and reanimating it, the armor was corrupted by the foul energies, rusting from the beautiful, albeit blood stained gold, to rusty black, and they rose up as a single mind. He could make out the still screaming faces of the now nameless soldiers, the pain still present on their features.

Then, they began to march, not giving them so much of glance, Norns, they acted as if they weren't even there! The posture that they showed was physically impossible and the perfection with which they moved was unlike any he had ever seen.

More shouts of surprise were let out when all of the bodies around the cohort began to receive the same effect that was just witnessed. Brogr was losing his mind, he felt trapped, he felt unprotected, the smith was incapable of locating the source of this vile depravity, and it was making him freak out.

"Looks like this lot hasn't seen the full capabilities of our mighty queen." the group of cartographers had finally joined them, carrying many satchels and bags, the dry parchment was visible, along with the neatly folded tables that they carried everywhere.

The group laughed and seemed to be oblivious to the fact that dead warriors where walking towards the camp.

"You've seen this before?" "When?" the questions kept on coming, quickly turning the eerily silent area into a storm of incomprehensible words.  
"Silence!" yelled Steinthor, effectively shutting up all of the chatter.

The head cartographer stopped before the semicircle that had been formed since their arrival, "To answe your questions, yes, I have, many a time for that matter. And if you think this is impressive, then you won't believe of the time in which the princess turned half a million dead Kree into her servants. The remaining army were swarmed, killed and quarters by their own, dead compatriots. And don't even get me started on the destructive capabilities that the princess is capable of, along with her royal highness Aldrif." but that only added fuel to the fire of inquiries.

Their leader went to shout again, this time threatening the nosier members of the cohort with punishment for disrespect and failure to follow orders. That placed the last nail in the coffin and silence reigned once more.

"Well then, I'd say that it is high time that we began to move, these maps aren't going to draw themselves now are they?" and with that they began their trek to lands unknown, accompanied only by the hiss of the hot, scalding rivers of magma that melted stone, creating a hypnotizing pattern with their displacement.

It went on like that for many hours, had this been a normal patrol they would have been done long ago; but they were forced to stop several times as the men they were guarding took their time in drawing out the surrounding territory, going so far to even create additional maps that would compensate for the difference in terrain should the flow of lava change.

It was beyond boring.

But that paled in comparison to the nervousness that consumed Brogr, he was afraid of being this far out, and whenever he heard a loud sound, he would instinctively go to grab the handle of his axe.

He was on alert, the ridges and burrows that were present all over the place kept him on the edge, his instincts kept warning him, he thought that an enemy would suddenly appear from one of those holes, catching the rest and himself completely unaware, and would bring down their weapon in a deadly arch, intent on cutting his life away.

Eyvind got closer to him, "Hey, why are you so worried?" he gave him a friendly shove on the shoulder, the iron rings that comprised the chain mail jingled because of it. The other lad kept looking at him, almost as if expecting him to get his joke, "What? I'm just here to calm you down, there's nothing we have to worry about."

Brogr kept his voice low, aware that he would have to mask his emotions and feelings well, "We are many miles away from the camp. We are an easy target out here, we're dead meat, just waiting to be devoured by those monstrosities of fire." 

The blond laughed, "So what? We are asgardians! Bred to wage war and trained to be the best! We are conquerors, not chickens! Am I right?" he turned around to the closest recruits, who all responded enthusiastically, but were quickly made to quiet down after receiving a warning bark from Steinthor.

"Still, you don't need to worry, even if we are overwhelmed, we still have the full might of the asgardian army with us, along with the two princesses!" he whispered now, having gotten closer.

"Alright then, but that doesn't take away the fact that we are isolated here, alone. Will the rest of the legions arrive fast enough? Huh?" his facade was cracking, and began showing his true face.

Suddenly, a harsh, hissing noise emerged. Brogr jumped in surprise and whirled around, as did the rest, weapons in hand, but where calmed when they saw that it was nothing but magma, though a few warriors skittered back to avoid getting burnt from the scalding liquid.

"Hahahahaha! Oh! Oh! Ha! This cohort! Oh my belly, oh how it cramps!" the cartographers were roaring with laughter, clearly amused by the misfortunate event that had happened to the unluckier lads. 

The recruits looked at them with hate and loathing, but that only made the group of men laugh even harder, some where gasping for air, given that the world was covered in ash.   
"This cohort is utterly useless!" "It's a miracle that we haven't been attacked yet! Norns you are imbeciles!" "That's to be expected by recruits!" some warriors were beginning to pace back and forth, their anger being stoked by the clear disrespect that they were being dealt. 

"There is no need to aggravate or insult the cohort sirs. And I might have to remind you, that we are the only protection you have out here. It won't take much for me to decide that our efforts would be better used elsewhere." Steinthor growled out, and Brogr could tell that he was at the end of his patience.

The man that was in charge of the squad got closer to the leader of the cohort, so close that they were nearly touching with their noses. "Pray to tell, lowly recruit, what will you tell the einherjar lieutenants, hmm? What then? Will you simply tell them that you got bored and decided that guarding us wasn't worth your time?" he was purposely taunting him now, goading him to attack. The young man's hand was sliding down his waist to grasp the handle of his sheathed sword.

"You want to gut me, don't you? You want to drive your blade through my heart and let my spill organs spill out... come on then... do it and see what happens..." he voice was barely above that of a whisper.

The tension was palpable, and Brogr was afraid of what his commander might do: he was irrational, unpredictable, and that made him dangerous.   
Finally, good sense seemed to finally grace him, for he backed off by taking a couple steps back, and turned his back to the smug smile that the cartographer was dressed in.

"Now that you know your place, I'd say that we've wasted enough time. Select a few of your soldiers, and I'll assign them the cartographers that they will have to accompany." "That is a dangerous thing to do, especially this far out, why?" 

The smirk only got bigger, "This is the fastest way to complete our task, unless you want to return back to the base late, for which you would face the consequences of your failure." Steinthor looked livid; "Fine. Skapti, Ioketill, Holmalug, Ragneid, Brogr, Jorgrindel, I pick you to protect these men, that is your mission now." 

The blacksmith sighed, already picturing the terrible ways he could die, but moved forward anyways.  
They were giving a partner, and much to his dismay, he was sent northwest, the farthest away from the cohort and camp.

Silently, they walked, their boots being the only sound other than that of the thousands of fire.  
In the end, after traveling for a few miles, they stopped over a rocky formation that overlooked a mountainous valley. The terrain was the same, and Brogr had yet to see a single plant of green on the way. It made him wonder how in the ten realms name would the crown turn this barren world into an inhabitable one.

They seemed to be a tiny bit secure, so he sat down and took off his helmet, still coughing because of the polluted air. The other man opened the folded table, he set it down and began to draw on it. Brogr did wonder how he didn't seem to have problems with looking at the landscape: his eyes were burning!

"You are an awfully quiet one." he was surprised at his words; he didn't expect to start a conversation, "How so?" "You don't speak, don't complain or make a fuss of things. It's rare to find such a rare quality in such a young recruit."

"I'm not like most recruits." the other chuckled, "That's what they all say; 'Oh I will become a general! Oh I will be a renowned hero!' and yet those loud words weren't enough to save themselves from death."

He turned around to look at him, pointing his quill towards his direction, "But you? You don't adopt that behavior, you're actually sane minded. It's intriguing, truly it is." the smith shrugged his shoulders, "Character flaw, it's just how I'm made."

The cartographer stopped his mapping to fully divert his attention to him, "Oh no, no, no, Odin's beard don't take it as a critique, I'm glad that you have some decency. The same can't be said for the others." he informed him, crossing his arms over his chest, and Brogr replicated his pose.

"Does it happen often?" "I'm sorry?" "This." he explained, waving his hands around, "Do you constantly get sent out like this? You appear to be quite calm about our current predicament." "More often than not, yes, and it is such a terrible bore, the recruits only want to talk about fighting and fucking, nothing else. They believe my art to be a useless one."

Brogr eyed him a bit, still surprised that he would make conversation, "I think it is interesting."   
The cartographer looked at him with an unreadable expression, "I'd say that you aren't a warrior by profession, so I would guess that you are a... blacksmith." the lad was shocked indeed, gesturing to him and the other in utter disbelief.

"It's not too difficult to notice: the way that you are always so collected and patient, your appearance tolerance for this unnaturally high heat. It fits the description very well indeed." he continued, "And you don't seem to be comfortable here." the smith snorted, "And you are?" he sarcastically replied.

"By all means yes. Trust me, I have been in a situation like this many a time. One does get used to it after repeated experiences." he appeared pensive as the gears in his head turned in thought, "I'll propose a deal: I know virtually nothing about blacksmithing, so I'll ask you questions about the subject. In return, I will answer whatever doubts or confusions you may have on my field of expertise. Does it sound like an acceptable deal to you?" and Brogr nodded.

And for the next three hours, the smith and cartographer exchanged information, filling their hearts with the techniques and methods that were used to employ the different types of jobs.

Luckily, this made Brogr relax a bit, as he was able to push away his thoughts of the dangers that pervaded this horrible land. It was a very interesting discussion, and he found himself being surprised by how truly complex the art was: he had never thought that map making would include advanced subjects such as mathematics and seidr.

By the time they were done, the star that orbited this realm was beginning to set, slowly but surely. Brogr noticed that the days here lasted longer than they did in Asgard: he was feeling tired and wanted to go to sleep, even if he hadn't done anything physically taxing during the morn and afternoon.

He got up from the place he was sitting, tightening the straps that held his armor together, he approached the cartographer that was laying the finishing touches on the map. Brogr was impressed with the quality of his drawing, as well as the amazing detail that was present in his work, work that had taken years to completely perfect.

However, it did make him wonder: "I still don't understand one thing." "Hmm?" "Wouldn't it be easier to simply use a skiff to scout out the area instead of having to come all the way here? No offense." he added just to be safe.

The other merely waved his hand at him, "None taken. But your question isn't without fault: it is true that our empire now possess the technology to render people like me obsolete in their profession, but the truth is that we are still best at work." 

"A skiff would be easier to use, yes, but it would not guaranty the same results that process like the one I use gives out." he gestured up to the dark grey fog of ash that permeated the atmosphere of the realm, "If we had been on a skiff, that fog would have caused many problems, it would have obscured our sight. And the valkyries aren't an option either: trying to fit a table onto a flying horse has been proven to be physically impossible, and the constant movement of the animal would render the entire base useless."

He concluded his thesis, "So, as you can see, the old ways are still the best." he finished, packing up the scrolls and placing them in their protective compartments that were present in his bag. The cartographer removed the stand and folded the table, grabbing the edge of it and continuing on their way.

Brogr walked in front of him, as was expected, but that didn't stop the two from talking to one another: "It has occurred to me that we have yet properly present ourselves. I am Brogr Gerrilsson." "Dunfjall Vottsson, pleasured to meet you as well." 

But the older asgardian wasn't done yet, "In total honesty, the reason for why I've refrained feom extending my name is because it doesn't bode very well to form attachments." "I'm sorry?" 

The cartographer sighed, "Over the years, I've developed the tendency of not learning the names of those that were assigned to protect and accompany me. It makes the pang of loss easier to deal with." "Oh... alright... my condolences." "Thanks. I'd hate for you to loose your life. I like you Brogr." 

And in a way, this reminded Brogr even more of Cnut, of how they would always go out to carry their assignments and talk.

They stopped when a hissing noise was heard, coming from their left, and they both knew for a fact that it wasn't caused by the fire.  
Brogr silently gestured with his hand for Dunfjall to come closer, and that he did without a word of disagreement. They began to move slightly quicker away, staying close together, back to back as the trained warrior kept his eyes locked on the point from which the noise had come from.

They needed to get back with the other recruits and the cohort, that would be their best chance of survival.

"DunfJall, if we are overwhelmed, run when I tell you to. I'll h-hold th-the-m b-back." his voice was racked with fear, he was sweating, his gut was churning and he felt in danger.

He unholstered the axe from his back, gripping it with both hands and desperately trying to recall all of the lessons that he had been made to learn back at the training grounds. His knuckles were white with the force with which he gripped the wood of the long handle.

Similarly to him, the cartographer unsheathed his personal knife, even if they were aware that it wouldn't do much. The hissing noise returned once more and Brogr whirled around, "Go." he pushed Dunfjall forward, starting to jog over the uneven and rocky terrain, "Go!" he yelled and behind them, the first fire demon emerged from the black stone.

Brogr only caught sight of it briefly, but it was enough to send his mind reeling in fear.

(note, these are what the fire demons look like in the movie)

The charred, blackened flesh that covered it was broken only by the red lines of its fiery inside, which was fully visible from gaping holes of its eyes and mouth, a set of numerous, serrated rows of teeth covered the latter opening.

It let out an ungodly roar and gave chase to the two, moving with frightening speed.  
This pushed Brogr to run faster, boosted by the adrenaline that had entered is senses. His lungs burned horribly, and it was in that moment that he realized how horrible this world truly was. He nearly tripped a couple of times, but continued on as he made the horrifying discovery that more and more demons had joined the hunt.

"Come on!" the older man yelled, pushing himself harder.   
Eventually, they saw the clearing where the cohort was settled. Those that were on lookout spotted them right away, helped by the fact that they were screaming their hearts out and flapping their arms erratically, coupled with the numerous fire monsters that were hit on their trail.

Brogr could only heard the clanking noise of his boots impacting on the stone of the ground, and his own beating heart.

The recruits that possessed shields formed a wall, keeping open a part of it for them to get him. Arrows wizzed past his head, to impact the demons, feeling a few of them with well aimed shots to the head.

The smith scrambled to a stop once he was behind the wall, as the shield men grunted against the wave of enemies that slammed against them. For a moment it seemed as if the raging enemies would break in, but the asgardians held and pushed back, driving their spears deep into the bodies of the demons, who howled and roared.

The battle was small in scale, but it was still furios and yells were heard from both sides, along with the bashing of metal and clattering of steel.  
The bowmen and spear throwers began to flank the group of fire demons, taking advantage of the fact that they were occupied at the front and licking off their targets whenever they could.

But that did not mean that the demons didn't fight back, and they slaughtered many of Brogr's comrades, ripping their limbs apart admits their screams of pain.

"Come on, trap them in!" roared Steinthor, launching himself into the fray, backed up by other recruits.

Brogr was pushed forth with the rest, and he yelled in desperation as he barreled in and brought his axe down on the head of a demon, splitting it open. He was knocked to the side when another tackled him, clawing at his chest in an attempt to gouge out his organs.

The smith struggled punching the unholy creature in the face to daze it, and a sword pierced the beast from behind, effectively ending its life.

The young man got back up to his feet, his senses on fire due to the utter chaos that was around him, he picked his axe back up and charged into another demon, attacking it from behind as it was battling another recruit. 

Brogr's throat was raw with all of his screaming, tears streamed down his eyes due to the exhaustion and fatigue that was accumulating in his arms. The head of his axe was covered in bright orange liquid that sizzled fiercely, and he had never been more grateful for the plate armor. He screamed when a set of claws pierced the back of his leg, and he turned his body around to shove his weapon into the side of the demon, pushing it away as he limped, nearly falling down because of the pain.

The fighting ended a few minutes later, and the last of the demons were slain under the steady barrage of arrows, spears and swords. The cohort regrouped, setting the body of the fallen into a pile.

Steinthor looked over it, his entire front covered in dirt, ash and blood. "How many?" "Twenty, my leader." "Twenty..."

"Twenty of our fellow soldiers have fallen! They died bravely and honorably, they died fighting their souls shall feast in Valhalla for eternity!" cheers rang out from the rest of the cohort. Brogr thought about it, pain present all over from the injuries that he had on the arm, leg and stomach, twenty dead, that was a third of their entire cohort.

He began laughing, hysterically as he cried, the stress becoming to much and his strength waning away like the heat of the battle. 

His laughing was lost in the sea of cheers and roars of victory...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, I would like to know your opinions on the story and am open to constructive criticism.


	11. Crowns and swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war proceeds.

Muspelheim, asgardian war camp...

Brogr sighed deeply, he was tired after a long, exhausting day of fighting and patrolling. 

He was tired of everything to be honest, this dammed war most of all. He wanted to leave.  
A few months had passed since their arrival, and the base had long been completed since then. Tall, thick stone walls surrounded the triquetra shaped fort, and a good chunk of tents had been replaced with actual buildings and barracks that housed einherjar and supplies.

But they, who of course were the recruits, were not granted that privilege, as they were stationed on the most external part of the camp, where the luxuries were much less common. They still slept in tents, and could only afford to take a bath three times a week, compared to the ten times a regular einherjar could.

The place was seemingly turning more and more into a city, the perpetual noise increasing with each passing sunrise.

The smith still didn't understand how this realm of fire would ever become a realm like those of the empire, but he had long since resigned himself to accepting his own ignorance, content to be left to his own thoughts.

The past times had been particularly rough on the cohort: out of the original sixty eight members, thirty one remained, less than half.

They were always given scouting duty, and it wasn't surprising that they were frequently attack. Their leader Steinthor had been killed in the last skirmish, and Eywind had been selected to take his pace. It was a particular choice, one that did not make much sense given that there better qualified recruits, but there had been whispering that his father, captain Hrok the Red had had a say in it and influenced the vote.

Things seemed as if they were going well: the generals assured the armies that they were winning the war, and that explained why they were always pushing further into the heart of the lands of the fire giants. Word had also spread that a few forts were being built to the north of their location, away from the region of control of Surtur, who was at their south. This war camp was the first line of attack for the empire, and should it fall then the others behind it would take its place.

The sad truth of this reality was the fact that the smith had all but accepted his demise; not that he didn't want to live, but he had grown accustomed to ever increasing possibilities of death upon riding into battle.  
And he hadn't seen Dunfjall since their first battle. He had given up on seeing him once more.

Just today, he had received a large cut on the back, a flesh wound that was easily healed by the healers at the camp, but that still meant that he was to be bedridden for the next couple of days. He didn't complain about it.

The blacksmith thought about his predicament, staring at the blank texture of the ceiling of his tent, unwavering and utterly boring. The air inside the enclosed space was better, and this allowed him to breathe easier, and his eyes didn't burn as much as they did outside.

His body was littered with more scars now: the one on his right leg and arm, the one on his shoulder, the new one on his back, the cheek, and the one on the side of his head, which had nicked the very tip of his earlobe. But none of them were as evident as the missing pinky finger on his left hand.

Brogr was glad that the injury didn't cost more of his digits, and he was especially glad that it was his non dominant hand to be wounded, but it was still unsettling. He didn't know if it would affect his work at the forge... that was if he ever returned.

He rubbed the stump of it, still in disbelief over the fact that it was missing. This conquest had taken so much already from him, what else did he have to give? His last bits of sanity? His life?

His dreams were haunted with nightmares that made him relieve the numerous battles, coupled with the incessant screaming of the demons. The man had been given a small dose of relaxants that came in the form of a thick, creamy soup. It dulled his senses and helped him sleep. Now that he was wounded, he had been given more, so he could rest easy for the next two days. 

And to think that he was now twenty years of age! What a load of bullshit. It meant nothing if he was an adult, he was still disposable. A faceless individual in an army of individuals. He wondered how his father was doing back in Asgard, if he was worried, if he was happy, and if he missed him just as much.

The smith shifted a bit on the bed, careful not to move to much in case of breaking the bandages and reopening his wound. The healers had already admonished him severely for laying on his back, thus putting pressure on the wound, but he didn't give them hear. He found it to be discomfortable when he was lying on his front.

The boredom was a pain in the ass, but it was the only thing he could do at the moment. That and nothing else beside thinking over his thoughts once more. And he didn't know if that was a good thing.

His musings were interrupted when he heard rustling from the front of the tent, and he raised his head to see someone come through the entrance.  
He was met with the smiling face of Eyvind. His armor was covered in blood and soot.

"Hey." the smith moved his hand in greeting as the other lad pulled a chair over and sat down. Brogr looked him over, a frown coming over him, "I hope you don't intend to dirty my quarters?" he asked, analyzing his appearance with a critical eye, and straining his neck to see if there was any dirt that had come off from his caked feet.

He closed his blue orbs, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. "What did I just say..." "Do not fret about it. I am the leader of this cohort."

Brogr looked at him, unimpressed: "Am I supposed to realize something? Does that statement actually hold significance? Truly?" the other adopted a sheepish look, staring at the ground as he fiddled around in his seat a little.

"I am the leader" he repeated "and I have the authority to do virtually anything that has to do with the cohort." "Does this mean that you will clean the damn floor? Because in case you haven't noticed, I do not have the ability to properly move. That is, unless you want another member to remain bedridden for longer." he sarcastically replied.

Eyvind raised his hands to form a non threatening gesture, "Calm, I will have someone else come clean up." that satisfied him some: "Please send someone that isn't Asa. She already dislikes me as it is."

Brogr sniffed the air a little, wrinkling his nose as he realized that his leader smelled, quite a lot in fact. "Did you not think of bathing before coming here to see me?" 

This time, his jab was readily deflected, "They will not allow us to use the tubs, it is not our turn yet." this caused Brogr to sigh once more. Norns, what he would have given to leave this realm! 

"Eyvind, answer me honestly, why did you come here? If it was only to check up on my status, you could have asked the healers, and if you were really insistent on hearing my opinion, you would've already been gone by a big margin of time." he gazed at him, his tone serious and unwavering 

"Well, I wanted to make sure you were alright. That is what friends do." his teeth ground together and he thought that they would crack.  
"Under what circumstances have we ever been friends? I do not recall ever naming you one, and I do not have a single piece of memory from our years at the training grounds of you making even a sliver of effort to socialize with me and Cnut." 

"We are at war Brogr, times change and so must we." that sent his thoughts into a hurricane of anger, the stress coupled with his erratic mood swings were the perfect ingredients for a concoction of bad temper.  
"Things have changed. You have not." "Brogr?" Eyvind asked, uncertainty present in his voice.

"You are still the fool who dreamt of nothing but to slay and kill, to achieve glory and recognition. And yet you are blind!" the friendliness in his figure disappeared, replaced by scorn. "Brogr, under my command we have been doing very well given our standards- "Well? Well?! Half out our cohort is dead.! DEAD! And you have the courage to call that good? What will you say to their parents, families?" 

His eyes darkened considerably, "It is not my duty to so." he stated neatly, devoid of any compassion.  
"Sure it is." the smith whispered to himself, unfortunately, he was clearly not silent enough, for Eyvind caught a whiff of it. 

"Would you care to repeat your words?" Brogr looked back at it, anger still burning hotly inside him, "It's not your duty. It's easy that way, isn't it? Is that what you tell yourself when you sleep at night?" 

He pressed on, now knowing that the next insult would be very risky: "Is that the justification you give yourself whenever you disappoint captain Hrok?" 

That lit the fuse to the other's wrath. Eyvind lunged forward, tackling Brogr off of the bed and onto the floor. "You fucker!" he yelled, pummeling his face, his hands were still dressed in their gauntlets, and wounded as he already was, Brogr couldn't do anything to defend himself.

He passed out after a couple of hits. 

Muspelheim, asgardian war camp, unknown location...

When he awoke again, he gasped, sharp, stinging pain stabbing through his back.

He tried to scream, but nothing came out of his mouth. His throat was dry, it hurt to gulp and pant.  
The blacksmith was alarmed by the fact that he couldn't see anything from his right eye, something was covering it, no, something was covering the side of his face

A figure came up to his side, "Hey, stay still, you are wounded." it was then the blurriness in his vision went away, and he realized that he was lying on his stomach. 

He was in a different tent: it was larger, more spacious and next to him on several other beds were different warriors, all covered in bandages. This was a healing center. 

"Don't move much, your cut was reopened and we had to stitch it thrice to make sure that it d stay closed. Do us a favor and don't make this more difficult." he rasped, still incapable of properly speaking: "Wa-wat... wate- water..." he croaked.

The healer returned soon after with a cup, which he placed against his lips. Immediately, he tried to tilt his head back as much as he could, wanting nothing more than to drink, but the man pulled the object away. "No. You have to drink it slowly." he told him sternly.

When Brogr stopped moving and showed his willingness to cooperate, he was able to drink, but Norns, was it difficult to resist the urge to gulp it down.

"Wh-What happen-ned?" he asked, confused. The last thing he remembered was being punched by Eyvind, the rest was a flurry of images, with not a single thread of connection between them.

"Your commander had a slip up, and you took the brunt of his pent up anger."

"H-how... how much time has passed?" he was still dazed, and his throat burned even now, but it was much more bearable than before at least.

Brogr shuffled a bit, groaning: his entire back and the right side of his face was numb. He could barely feel anything; it gave him a sense of dizziness, and he felt drowsy, an unnatural urge to rest kept pressing against his consciousness, but he tried to fight back agains it.

"Give or take, half a day. By Asgard's standards." he added the last bit, obviously to make sure that there were no doubts. 

He still could not see through his right eye, so he tried to take away the bandages, but his hand was slapped away by the man, "Don't touch the bandages, your eye is simply swollen shut, not missing or anything else. And your nose was broken, along with your busted lips." that gave him some calm, and he now concentrated on settling his wits.

"Whe-where is Eyvind?" the healer looked at him, a condescending stare was what he was giving him: "It would be best to remember formalities and titles recruit." his tone was icy towards the end, and Brogr bit back a reply, knowing that it was best not to argue over his rank.

Once more, this was proof of the unfair treatment that the einherjar and recruits were given. Not even healers were innocent of this affront.

"Yes, my ap-apologies." he stuttered, having yet to fully stabilize his wits, "Where is he? Is he hurt?" the other let out a cold laugh, which shook him, given the deep, baritone pitch of it.

It seemed to briefly scare even the other healers that were tending the wounded next to them, they clearly weren't expecting such a thing, and thus they jumped a bit in surprise because of it.

"By the Norns, you band of useless fuckers really are slow of mind. Or was it your leader's fist that have made you simple? Hmm? What do you say about it?" Brogr was taken aback by the venomous words that fell from the healer's sneering mouth. He would have never thought that a healer could act so carelessly and offensively, and yet here was the proof.

"Just as I thought, you are simple." he spat out, turning around to leave. "Wait!" Brogr tried to prop himself up on his forearms, sweating profusely to do so given his state.

The foul mouthed healer turned around once more, annoyance present in his harsh eyes. "Answer my question! Is he here?" the man got right into his face, giving off an aura of threat, even without having to physically pose to show his intentions of bringing him hurt.

"No he is not, you stupid shit." he growled out, voice low and loathing, emphasizing each and every word, "He was the one who beat you up, not the other way around." 

"Bersi, leave the recruit alone. He's already had enough, there's no need to add to it." he couldn't properly turn around to see who was addressing the healer now known as Bersi.  
The voice was female, and it carried an edge of bite, along with an undertone of authority.

The man scowled at her, "What are you doing here?" he demanded, assuming a defensive tone. "Following orders." came the slightly smug reply from the unknown individual.  
"I am to interrogate him. So go on, run away with your tail tucked between your legs... after all, that's what your best at." it was now a derisive verbal attack, and that clearly infuriated Bersi.

"You can't-"I can, and I will. I do not care if you are a healer, I rank above you and your disobedience is enough for me to have you thrown into a cell." the healer wanted to reply, but was incapable of doing so, being caught in a trap where the only safe solution was that to retreat.

And retreat he did, stalking away, still throwing dirty looks at the person.

Whoever it was, it was clearly someone of importance, given that the other healers gave her nods of respect.

The smith was still trying to see who had come, and the figure walked around the bed.  
The first thing Brogr noticed was the gleaming withe armor that adorned the body of the figure. Round, gold colored pieces were placed over her chest, shoulders, forearms and legs. The next identifying detail was the ocean blue cape that trailed behind her, and finally was the sapphire engraved sword, its hilt made out of the fangs of the fabled dragons that roamed Asgard.

The fair skinned, blonde woman in front of him was a valkyrie, part of the legendary order of elite warriors. It clicked then: it made sense why Bersi was so affronted now, and it explained her uncaring way of speaking.

"You have stirred some trouble in the cohort." she observed him, face unreadable, "Though I am thoroughly disappointed. I was expecting someone bigger, not so short." he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that it would be best not to, especially in the presence of a valkyrie.

"Ma'am, with respect, could you please tell me where the leader of my cohort is?" her gaze turned predatory, and the tips of her lips pulled up in the side, a dark grin was beginning to form.  
"Given the placement of these healing quarters, about a few hundred yards away, currently tied to a post, and receiving a public flogging in front of the cohort and assigned legion." she spoke of it as if it were a simple matter, not something so brutally cruel.

"Is... is he- "He will be alright, there are some healers that are there in case his life is in danger. But even though not an einherjar, he is a warrior, and I would be quite surprised if he didn't survive the fifty lashes." she continued, still talking calmly.  
It made Brogr nauseous to even think of it, Norns, bile was rising from his throat.

"That was his punishment for attacking a wounded and defenseless individual. You on the other hand..." she paused, seemingly in the middle of deciding something, "You provoked him, is that correct?" 

Brogr stayed silent, panicking as he didn't know what to do: if he lied, he could be punished for doing so, but if he told the truth, he could still very well be punished. "Come on now. I have many things to do, and interrogating a recruit is not one of them; I would advise you not to test my patience anymore than you have already, so spit it out."

In the end, he chose the option that seemed to be the better one.

He lowered his gaze, "Yes." the valkyrie hummed, crossing her arms. "I thought as much. Your fault is smaller than his, and it would be detrimental to give you the same sentence."

Her eyes assumed an almost maniacal glee, "It is a shame though, what a missed opportunity." he was shocked: "You... you enjoy it? What... what kind of sick, perverted logic is that?!" she mirthlessly chuckled, "Oh, so calm down." she paused to chuckle some more, "You are so easy to toy with Brogr Gerrilsson." he wasn't that surprised at the mention of his name, since she had probably read the reports about the incident.

"None of what I have stated shall befall on you. A warning will be placed, so should you act the same way in the future, the higher officers won't be that lenient." her posture shifted then, going from relaxed to stiff. 

She lost all of her warm ness in exchange for glacial formality, "You have been cleared to have access to the more advanced healing arts." she was cold now, she acted as if she abhorred him.

The facade was up, and now her true personality was displayed. She had played him like a vixen, she had initially approached with a friendly demeanor but at this point she had completed her task, and her gaze turned hateful. His hope for acquiring a new potential companion was broken.

"Know that I would never allow a weakling like you to be given such advanced seidr spells. Many warriors are critically wounded and at the brink of death as we speak, they are far more deserving than you are." she hissed out, walking away, having ended the conversation, but not before letting out a final jab: "Remember that."

The blacksmith sighed. For the love of the Norns, his fiery temperament had gotten the best of him once more, and this time he nearly paid the price. It was strange, how he was now angrier and more volatile then ever before: up to a few months ago he was controlled in his actions, and rarely had outbursts.

But it was also true that he was at war, now he faced battle nearly everyday, and the horrors that he witnessed had scarred him.  
He wanted to leave, but he couldn't.

This realm would become his grave, he knew it. It would not matter if he fought like Bor Burisson come again, he would still die because it wasn't feasible to survive given their orders.  
Each day, they were given scouting duty, and if they were lucky, they instead got patrol duty, which had less fighting, but still much of it nonetheless.

From what he had been able to understand, the other cohorts stationed in the other sectors of the camp had all been nearly wiped out. Their own group was on the edge of collapsing, and yet they were still sent.  
It wasn't even as if the superiors tried to hide it, and their negative views on the recruits was blatantly clear to all. What a mystery it was; the way in which his fellow comrades wholeheartedly believed that they were fighting for something noble and righteous. 

Madmen, they were all madmen. That was the answer. And the rest were nothing but arse licking cockroaches, willing to do anything to climb the social ladder even if for just a little bit.  
All of this mellowing had made him bitter. He then decided to simply rest and forget about it for a couple of hours: he wouldn't fight his body's need to sleep.

Brogr gave in to his exhaustion and lowered himself back down. He closed his eye, and attempted to ignore the groaning and whimpering around him, instead focusing on his own steady breathing. 

The valkyrie's words were still repeating in his head though, and he realized that he needed that soup, but he would not be able to obtain it.  
He also found it difficult to find a comfortable position, since she was so used to sleeping on his back. At least the mattress was softer that the one in his tent.

Eventually, due to the heaviness that clouded his mind, he feel into slumber, hoping to find some peace and quiet.

The smith was awoken by a hand that lightly shook his shoulder, bidding him to fully wake. Norns be blessed, he saw that it was another healer, not Bersi.  
This man appeared neutral and indifferent to him.

"You are healed." he stated plainly, as if it where a fact. "What?" asked Brogr, still feeling sleepy, "I performed the necessary rituals so that the gash on your back was properly cured. You must return to your quarters." he instructed him, presenting his set of wear; it was then that he realized that he was dressed only in his small clothes.

Gently, he took off the wrapping around his head, and was relieved to finally be able to use his eye in the same, old manner that he was used to. Brogr sat up, grabbing his pants, he slid them up his legs, soon doing the same with his shirt and socks.

With that the left, the tent, signing a document that testified his official release. As soon as he moved out of the large tent, he was hit with a wave of heat, a poetic reminder that he was still in the land of the fire giants.

The smith tried to clear his mind of the negatives. Even if he had been here a long time now, he still hadn't gotten used to the climate. The einherjar and other personnel likely had healing spells cast over them, as to reduce or outright nullify the effect of the ash and smoke.

And he was jealous about it. It wouldn't cost a lot to extend the same rights to the recruits, considering that they were but an insignificant speck in comparison to the rest of Asgard's armies.

Brogr attempted to get out of this section of the camp as quick as possible, and if he remembered correctly, along with the positioning of the medical ward, then the tents of his cohort should be towards the south. He wasn't interested in being stopped, so he tried to speed walk, knowing full well that without his proper armor, he looked quite suspicious, and running would definitely not help him for that matter.

As he expected, strange looks where sent his way, and he noticed a couple of warriors even placing their hands on their weapons, almost as if they were preparing for a fight.

That only made him more convinced of the imminent danger his presence brought to him. What an ironic, cruel twist of fate by the Norns would it be, if he ended up dying not to the demons, but to an ally.

Luckily, he soon saw the gate that divided the tip of the triquetra from the rest of the base. Naturally, that was done in order to contain the potential breach; the enemies would have to fight through wall after wall after wall to reach the center, all the while being harassed by the mounted turrets on the walls, arrows and flying skips.

It would also be easier to move out the supplies and weapons, as to not give the giants even an once of the treasure the empire had stationed in this was camp.

"But could it really happen?" he whispered, deep in thought: sieges had only happened on two occasions since the start of the war, and they were never really that big of a deal. 

It seemed as if it was only a matter of time now: either Surtur managed to successfully drive out the Asgardians from Muspelheim, delaying their eventual demise once more, or the two queens ended the long lasting feud.

Odin had once battled against the fire king, long ago, when the empire was still in its infancy. It was common knowledge that the Allfather beat Surtur by separating him from the Eternal Flame, thus halving his power; but it was thanks to the Twilight Sword, the mythical blade that was forged from the flames of a burning galaxy, that Surtur was able to escape. It was said that the sword contained the essence of the fire realm, the heart of Muspelheim... it was also foretold that the giant would use it to destroy Asgard come ragnarok.

That weapon was the only reason for why Surtur was still alive, and why the king had stalled from finishing the conquest. But now it seemed as if his two daughters were driven to finish the deed, and yet another world would fall to the rule of Asgard.

All of this thinking had caused him to walk forward automatically, and by the time he properly came back to his senses, he realized that he had walked all the way back to the grounds of their cohort.  
Seeing only half of the tents was demoralizing, and the single, stone pillar that was placed in the middle of the camp was slick with blood, as were the chains and ground around it.

Brogr shuddered at the sight of it, imagining the terrible pain that Eyvind must have felt.  
He decided that it was best to apologize, so he walked over to Hroksson's tent, distinguishable because of its slightly larger size.

He received looks of scorn from his fellow recruits, they probably thought that he was to blame. And in part, he was. The least Brogr could do was to try and make peace with Eyvind, even if the outcome of his quest would likely not be a pleasant one.

The smith was stopped when Ana blocked his path; she stared at him with hate, breathing though her nose as she visibly shook with rage. Brogr kept his hands to his sides, trying to show that he didn't want to have any bad blood with her.

When the punch came, he did not evade it: partially because it caught him off guard, and partially because he knew he deserved it.

He fell to the ground, landing on his back, blood pooling in his mouth, "You craven bastard." she growled furiously. Brogr closed his eyes instead of responding, it wasn't worth the effort to cause another brawl, and it would only mean bad things for him.

"Yes." he answered silently, "I am." he agreed, nodding his head. The woman walked away, and no one of those watching deigned themselves to help him up. So he did so alone, rolling his jaw a bit and spitting out the blood.

Not even an hour had passed since he had awoken fully healed and he was already injured again.  
The short lad moved to tent, pushing the flap to the side, and coming in.  
The inside of it was sparse, save for all of the basic necessities; much like his own tent.

He saw Eyvind, lying on his bed. A slew of bandages were wrapped around the back, some of them were soaked in red; the smell of medical potions was prominent.

"Ana?" his voice was hoarse, due to all of the screaming that he had done. "I'm not Ana."

Even in this state, Eyvind found the strength to turn around, having recognized him.  
"You..." Brogr walked forward, "I want to apologize. It was wrong of me to provoke you like that." 

His eyes were those that would typically belong to a mad man, and he looked at him with such fury and hatred that his entire body trembled. "You..." he whispered again, struggling to stand up.

"Eyvind, please, don't strain yourself." the smith pleaded, desperately hoping that the wounded recruit would listen.  
"You.... how... HOW DARE YOU! I AM THE LEADER! I A YOUR MASTER!" spit flew from his mouth, he resembled a feral animal, not an asgardian.  
Brogr was shocked, the lad had gone completely mad, and he began to approach him by crawling on the floor, the blood on his wounds spilling with renewed vigor; the smith didn't know what to do, he was frozen in place, shocked.

A couple of people entered the tent, to restrain him and put him back on the bed.  
A hand clasped him on the shoulder and dragged him back, faster than he anticipated, so he had no choice but to fall back onto the rocky ground.

"You've done enough Brogr..." Ana said, this time brandishing her sword against him, its pointy tip pushing against his throat, 

"Leave before I gut you like the craven you are!" she barked at him, her own tears welling around the edges of her eyes. 

"Go!" she kicked him, and he scrambled back, getting back up to his feet. He stopped, trying to talk to her: "Ana, I did not- she dashed up to him, her blade surging through the air. If he hadn't jumped away, it would have slashed his ribcage open, and the loss of his organs would have killed him.  
All that Brogr received was a light slash that went horizontally across his lower chest, drawing a line of blood.

He got the message and backed off, walking to his own tent.  
The rest of the cohort were furious and angry with him, that much was obvious, and right know, when tensions were still high, his best option would be to isolate himself and reduce contacts to a minimum.

A week later...

He was trembling, the adrenaline still wouldn't leave him, as did the fear. 

Brogr's limbs kept shaking, he couldn't even keep his axe straight even when he held it with two hands.  
And the environment around him was so much worse: thousands of bodies, both asgardian and those of demons, littered the plain.  
Literal mountains of corpses had formed, the air was filled with the laments of pain and cries of anguish.

The battle had been bloody, no, it was a massacre...  
The ground was tinted red as the sky, as was their armor. 

Corpses were being reanimated, turning into draugr, while others were being selected to be turned into berserkers, the horrific hybrids of metal and flesh.  
Soon the dead would populate the skies on behalf of princess Aldrif.

And that wasn't counting the recognizable bodies: countless guts and limbs were scattered everywhere, and the sight of them had caused him to vomit.

Brogr tried to be strong, as Beigarth, cried to him, "Brogr, help me.... I want to live..." he coughed, blood exiting his mouth as he did.

The smith gripped the other warrior's hand, praying to the Norns that his body would be left alone, and not desecrated by the dark seidrs of the queens.

Beigarth's entire arm and following torso were missing, he was whimpering in pain, as the red oozed out of him. Brogr could see his lungs, ribs, heart, it was all there, but he just wouldn't die...

A fire dragon had bitten into him... he was its last victim before it was slain by a group of valkyries.

"Brogr.... help me Brogr..." tears were cascading down his cheeks, his throat was tight but he refused to make a noise, trying to support his fellow warrior until the very end.  
Slowly, he took out his knife, the first one that he had made. The dying soul saw the weapon and began to weakly struggle, but it was useless.

"Brogr.... no! Help me... Help- he stopped, as the smith stabbed his heart.

Brogr pulled him close to him, hugging him as tightly as he could to his body; "I'm sorry..." he sobbed, not being able to take it anymore, "Forgive me..." his armor rattled with the tremors of his body. 

Beigarth's breath got shallower and slower, until he breathed no more. 

The blacksmith placed his body down, attempting to move it into that of a ceremonial pose, by putting his arm over what remained in his chest.  
Brogr took off his helm, and buried his face into his bloodstained hands, not caring about it anymore.

"Why...." he silently cried, continuously hiccuping, "Why are the Norns so cruel?" he gasped, still drained of his strength.  
He had killed, killed a comrade out of mercy, but he had still done it, to save him from more suffering.

He raised his head back up, to look around him. He saw many einherjar perform the same deed as he had done, it was heart wrenching.

Brogr bowed his head to the fallen warrior, praying to whatever higher deity to let his body rest in peace. 

He looked up to the sky, "Why? Why... am I still alive? He was the better warrior!" he spat out, emotionally destroyed.

Brogr couldn't, wouldn't try to pretend that things were going to go back to normal, because they wouldn't.  
He would carry his sins to his grave... he would never forgive himself for it.

Slowly, the young adult got up from his kneeling position. He walked over to the others, coming to stand near them. They still looked at him with disgust, and it shamed him.

They too were covered in ash, soot and blood, they too had fought their hardest, and ten had died in the end.

"Cohort, gather around." Eyvind spoke as they assembled together, "My father, captain Hrok the Red, has told me that we have dealt a critical blow to Surtur's forces. Victory is near."

How was victory not theirs yet? How many more would have to die until it was finally over?  
"Leader... how many einherjar have fallen?" he asked, his gaze still locked on Beigarth. 

"By approximation, about a quarter of a million." "And the cohorts?" Eyvind looked pensive, "It's not known, we may very well be the last on this side of the battlefield."

He paused, before screaming "We have won! We are invincible!" and the others followed, raising their weapons up to the sky. Brogr couldn't believe what he was hearing: they were insane, all of them.

They had arrived at the battle late, and on the very outskirts of the fight. They had been spared from fighting in the middle of the plain, where most of the bloodshed and carnage was concentrated, but that did not mean that it was an easy challenge.

Brogr was wounded, bleeding from his side, and he was tired and still in shock from it all. How was it that the others didn't appear to be the same?

"What are we to do now, leader?" Ana asked. It was quite obvious that she was very much in love with the man, that was apparent given how jealous and protective she would be about him. Everyone in the cohort knew of it, even if the young woman continually denied it; the only one who did not seem to notice her affections was Eyvind himself, and that made the whole thing all the more ironic.

She was like a dog, always ready to obey his commands in a bid to please him. What she was doing now was no exception.  
"My father has given me the orders to return to camp and to report to the standing general. The bulk of the army will remain here for some time as the princesses sort out the bodies of the slain to be turned into draugr and berserkers, and to revive those that are still in good enough conditions to fight."

There was no Valhalla, he was certain of it now; if there was, then the two queens would not need to do such things. It was all a bunch of bullshit. And they were blind to it.

"Let us go then, follow me." he ordered, walking north, towards the base.

They left the battlefield to their shoulders, turning away from the bloodshed, the suffering and death.

Something didn't feel right though, and it wasn't the flaring pain of the cut on his side...  
It was the fact that this seemed to good to be true, something was wrong, something was very wrong.

Eyvind wasn't going straight back to the camp, he was instead curving to the side, heading more to the east, thus taking a longer trail, and plunging deeper into enemy territory.

It was silent, it was all silent and it felt wrong after being lost in a sea ear shattering nosies for hours.  
Brogr stopped, looking around the volcanic formations that were to their left, spewing out flames and smoke from their tops. 

"Hey." Brogr spoke, walking faster, still holding a gauntlet hand to his bleeding wound.

"Eyvind." he spoke again, gaining the leader's attention. The blonde had a nurtured a hate for him, ever since the incident, and was not willing to let go of his grudge.  
His eyes hardened, "What?" he asked, as the rest of them stopped to listen in.

"What are we doing out here? Why are we not on the road that we took to get to the battle?" "Are questioning my decisions?" he jabbed, cold and unforgiving.

"Brogr, I always knew that you were a coward, but at least hide it: you're shaking in your boots!" he exclaimed, and the others laughed in derision.

"Eyvind, now is not the time, this is a stupid decision. We have to leave." "And what gives you the right to give me orders?" 

The blacksmith sighed, "All of you, please, try to use logic. We have won, we've dealt a great blow to the fire giants right." many nodded and voiced their affirmations.

"You agree with me, good. Then I ask you, where was Surtur?" none answered, they looked at each other, confused.

"Some of you must have seen the princesses Aldrif and Hela, correct? Then why wasn't Surtur at the battle, why were there so few giants?" 

"He's a craven, he hides, cowering in fear as his demise approaches by the hands of the crown." he turned to Eyvind, "That is my point, he is too proud to so, and he mus that's Asgard with a passion. Just because we have won, does not mean that we can rest easy, that we can strut around like if we've already won."

Ana took out her sword, pointing it at him, "You are insinuating that our commanders have acted badly. That is treason you are speaking Brogr. You should be executed for it." the majority of others agreed, saying that he had done nothing to prove his loyalty.

"Please," he raise his arms, tears in his eyes, the stress was crushing him, "Think for once in your lives you shits! Stop acting so arrogantly and try to think this!" 

They were now shouting against him, some had even grabbed him and removed his axe, restraining him.  
Eyvind came forward as the smith was pushed down so that his neck was exposed.  
"Under the crime of treason, I sentence you to die Brogr Gerrilsson. May the Norns spit on your soul and banish you to the depths of the Ginnungagap." 

He raise his sword high into the air, "Eyvind, No! Just listen to me! Surt- they heard it then, the noises.

Slowly, Eyvind approached the rocky outlook, and he dropped his blade in horror.

"Giants! Surtur is here!" he bellowed as the vast plethora o demons noticed them, and began to scurry up the stones. 

The king of flames noticed them, he was titanic, and in his hand was the Twilight Sword. Wordlessly, he pointed it at them as the army started their attack. 

"Sound the alarm!" a couple of recruits blew into their ram horns, Brogr got back up as he was let go, gripping his axe close to him.

An endless sea of fire demons, dragons and giants was coming towards them, this was it.

This was where he would die.

It ended here.

Induced by fear, he strikes against the first enemy with his axe, nearly cleaving him in half.

Around him, the others yelled as they began to be overwhelmed. Rota was dragged down, her legs ripped off, and then her guts were torn apart as she cried out for help. 

A wave of flames surged next to them, setting ablaze many, and causing their death.  
Brogr yelled as claws and blades alike scraped against the gaps of his armor. There were too many, there was nothing he could do.

A towering demon charged at him, raised the great sword it was holding above its head, and slashed downwards, aiming to finish him.

And the world turned black...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter ends arch two of the story. Please remember to comment your thoughts and impressions. Until next sunday.


	12. Hunt & Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brogr meets the crown princesses.

Unknown location...

Blackness.

That was all that Brogr could see, and nothing else.

He was awake, he was aware of that, but he found himself unable to open his eyes.  
Did he still have eyes? Was he dead? Those were some of the questions that kept swirling in his head.

Strangely enough, he felt at peace... as a matter of fact, he felt relaxed.  
This did not seem to be Valhalla, or if it was, then the Allfather's teachings were wrong, or, they were more likely lies, meant to brainwash the asgardians.

But then, he heard something. It moved around him; he heard several things actually, and as he tried to listen, the noises grew clearer.

Brogr willed himself to open his eyes, and slowly, he did just that. It was a struggle to keep them open, for they felt heavy and exhausted, but he pushed through it anyways, and was met with a wall of pure white.

The wall did not remain a wall: with the speed of a snail, it warped and changed its appearance.   
Brogr was not facing a wall anymore, he was facing a stone ceiling; a very intricately and detailed ceiling, lined with runes and gold.

But if he was staring at the ceiling, that meant that he was lying down on his back.  
The smith breathed out a little, surprised that he still had the ability to do so. He felt numb all over: his limbs wouldn't respond to his commands, and what was more was the fact that he could not even feel them.  
He could not feel anything, except for the drowsiness that seemed to swirl in and around him. But as his senses began to better themselves, he also realized that something was trailing along his skin.  
Brogr could not move more than an inch, even if he tried with all of his might, but there definitely something that was being passed over his body.

It felt, strange, for a lack of a better term, almost as if it was sinking into his very flesh and snaking its way into his veins.

Brogr attempted to look down, but was still unable to do so. He decided to simply lay there, and wait until he reacquired his movement.

To be be completely honest, it wasn't all that bad. Slowly, his last memories came back, and he began to remember it all: the battle, the giants, the demons, and all of the blood, Norns, there was so much of it.

Dotta, Rota, Erik, Skyapper, he had seen them die in horrific manners, swallowed by the hordes of enemies. He could recall the searing flames that had burned his flesh, and the toxic fumes of smoke that had poisoned his lungs; and the overwhelming amount of demons, of how they would use their weapons to viciously attack him, or simply claw and bite away at the steel.

He surely thought that that was to be the end, but against all odds, by a miracle given to him by the Norns, he was still in the lands of the living. 

But it would seem as if his mind had yet to fully recover from the traumatic experience, for his memories began to flash, and his view lost its focus. The pounding of a headache was fast approaching, and the thing that covered him turned warm, almost cocooning him into a blanket, willing him to the peaceful realm of slumber.

A primal, instinctual feeling made itself know, and for the first time in what seemed to be forever, Brogr felt safe, safe to sleep in this gentle embrace. The last time he had ever felt this way, he had been with... his mother...

She would hold him close, hugging him to her lap and would softly pet his hair, letting her hands trail through his messy dark brown curls. And she would hum a rhythm, biding him to close his eyes and listen to her voice.

Brogr felt safe and secure, and with that he stopped resisting all together, and slept.

When he awoke again after an unknown amount of time, he felt better. 

Brogr could now actually feel his hands and feet, and he could wiggle both his toes and fingers freely. Steadily, he propped himself on his forearms, still registering the unknown material on his body.

His eyes looked down on his bandaged torso, and he noticed the barely visible runes that faintly glowed above his skin, a light green mist circled around them, before trailing away and vanishing into nothingness.

The runes followed shortly after, and Brogr reacquired control over his being.  
That was seidr, he was sure of it; the young man had never seen it before, much less felt its effects during its use, but what he witnessed amazed him, it was... otherworldly.

Seidr magick was only used for dangerous cases, Brogr knew that very well; it took considerable effort on the healer's part to cast the necessary spells, and it required the usage of much energy, thus leaving the user tired.  
And affinity to seidr was not common, so it was a very precious form of treatment.

Brogr then took in the room he was in, admiring the grandness of it: everything was luxuriously furnished, the classic baroque-like decorations of gold were obviously present, a clear testament to Asgard's overflowing treasury.

The bed he was in was very comfortable and soft, as where the silk sheets that covered his legs. Unsure of where he was, Brogr removed the covers and slid off the bed, making sure to take no sudden movements as he still felt weak and aching. His steps were measured, as he walked to the large windows.

The colored glass impeded his view, but he could very much tell that the building in the which he was residing, was not in Muspelheim, for the sky was definitely colored blue, not red.

Brogr unhooked the gilded gold locks, opening one of the large panels a little.  
The view that he was offered was a good one: in front of him, he could see the bustling activity of what look to be a... fortress. There were tall walls, lined with defenses and gold as always, skips were a common sight now, but they kept whizzing back and forth, dropping off materials that were then collected by waiting workers. 

A particularity that caught his eye was the presence of several, young trees and greenery, giving the impression that they had only recently been added.

The smith turned his eyes towards the horizon, and saw the growing grass of the fields ahead, but something was off about it: if he looked even farther, Brogr could notice a change in the scenery, as all traces of nature vanished in exchange for cruel, cold stone, and... red air... a red sky... and numerous volcanoes...

"In the name of the Norns... what is this realm?" was this Muspelheim? Truly? 

Brogr cast his gaze to the moving asgardians, and he now noticed that a very large quantity of them were dressed in the armor of the einherjar... but they were much more numerous than what would usually be seen in a city; and now that he actively observed them, he realized that the armor was not the traditional one, for it was in fact it presented two color schemes.  
Dark green and black, and orange and gold, coupled with capes of black fur, and of shining feathers. These were the types armors worn by the legions under command of the two queens... and in the war camp, they resided in the innermost circle of the triquetra... which could only mean that he was in one of the healing centers of the previously mentioned district.

The doorknob that was at the end of the room twisted, biding him to turn his attention to it. The elm door was opened, and in came a woman, wearing the garbs of a healer.

She looked at the bed and her face turned alarmed when she saw that it was empty, but calmed when she finally noticed him as he moved away from the open window.

"Oh, Bor's horns did you frighten me young one. What are you doing out of the bed? Come! You are not in the condition of moving freely!" she spoke to him with the authority of a thousand warriors, and Brogr was immediately compelled to obey her stern command.

It was only when he was once again seated on the bed that she let go of her stiff posturing and approached him, shaking her head: "Men... always too thick headed to listen to common sense..." she opened the first drawer of the cabinet that was posted next to his mattress, taking out a ceramic bowl. 

"Where am I?" Brogr asked, and it was in that moment that he realized how weak his voice was. She looked at him, the faint traces of a smile etched on her lips, "Why in Muspelheim of course. No one has moved ever since the beginning of the war, laborious time that that was." this only confused him further.

"Why... why is it so lively and hospitable then? Why are you speaking of the war in past tense?" the healer produced a container of water from another drawer; had that always been there?   
She moved her fingers a little, forming a few symbols on the surface of the bowl, and they glowed a light green. The healer began to pour the water in, nearly filling the bowl up to its brim, "Because it has ended young one. Very recently in fact, and thanks to you and your cohort no less."

"What?" "It is not my place to tell you, and I would not want to spoil the surprise - lie down young one, there, like that." she instructed, pushing him till his back was flat against the bed.

She tenderly took off the bandages around his torso revealing a long, angry red scar that went from right under his right pectoral muscle, down along his abdomen until stopping just before his hip.

Brogr was shocked at seeing it, his breath hitching in horrified surprise at the massive line; seeing the second scar that adorned his left side was another shock, especially given how wide this one was as well.

The blonde woman briefly immersed a cleaning cloth in the water, bathing it thoroughly so that it would soak in more of the applied seidr runes.   
She then touched his scar, gently dabbing the cloth along the trail, and washing away whatever impurities that had accumulated on it.

Brogr flinched when the cold object touched him, but was unaffected further. As she reached the end though, he felt a profound discomfort emanate, and started to squirm; and when she dragged the piece of fabric on the very tip of it, he pushed her hand away, not being able to tolerate the annoying itch any longer .

"It hurts?" he nodded a little, taking a couple of shaky breaths to stabilize himself, and stop fidgeting so much. "Hmm... I was not expecting this reaction... but given its size it does make sense." she got into position again, holding the cloth close to the last bit of tissue.

Brogr tensed, awaiting the imminent discomfort. The healer looked at him, "I will do this quickly, but you will need to stay still." the blacksmith hummed in understanding, closing his eyes and preparing himself.

Thankfully, the healer stayed true to her word and he managed to resist the urge of wanting to slap her hand away, though the cleaning still gave him an acute irritation.

"Now I will have to clean the other one." she said, pointing to the second jagged line. The young man nodded silently and turned to lay on his side, as to allow her better access to the scarred area.

Again, the wet material was pressed to the tip red gash. Brogr felt nothing at first... which was good. But it was when the healer reached the middle of it that the discomfort returned, though nowhere near as strong as before.

"This one hurts as well?” “Yes." was his quiet reply, and the woman appeared pensive, probably trying to understand the motive for his pain. "There is only a little more left, and then you won't have to suffer through this." she asked, a teasing undertone present as well, "But I bet that you can handle it like the strong, brave warrior you are." she jested, trying to alleviate the tension of the situation.

Brogr did not laugh at her joke, but sighed, "End it, please." he resigned himself and ground his teeth together.

Quickly, she passed the cloth a final time, away from the center of the scar and until the end of it, and luckily the irritation became less and less as the material distanced itself from the middle of the line.

The blacksmith breathed out as she finished her work, setting the towel, that was now not as white as before, down into the bowl.  
She procured herself new, clean wrappings and bandages, and started to dress his wounds, but Brogr stopped her moving arms with his own, "Could..." he started out almost shyly, "Could you show me how to do it?" the healer turned her head a bit to the side, away from him, and he got the impression that she was blushing.

"My, my, you are a peculiar and interesting one. But of course, I will show you, here take this end and apply it over the cut and around your shoulder..." she instructed, guiding him with her words.

It took him a couple of tries to properly set the bandages up again, and the woman properly secured and fixed the parts that he had left a little loose, but he had done it.

It was strange to note that his scars had not itched before, but now they did when he moved in certain directions. Brogr would have to make a mental note of being self aware of how he twisted and turned his body.

"How long will I have to keep these?" he asked, softly tracing the stump of his left pinky finger, Norns did he miss it.

The healer opened an elaborate wooden wardrobe, taking out a simple looking cotton shirt and pants, as well as socks and a pair of boots. "For the next two weeks at the very least; but I would advise you to keep them on until the end of the month."   
That satisfied some of his questions, "How often will I have to change them?" "Once every three days. It is imperative that you avoid dirtying them, we wouldn't want them to get infected now would we? Oh, and for that matter, you must manually clean them each time you change. A simple cloth soaked in water will do."

The thought of having to do repeat there atrocious process again and again made his skin crawl.

In that moment, he felt the urge to relieve himself, "I must, ehm, go to the toilet." she offered him a coy smile, "Do not take long, for your presence is needed in one of the meeting rooms." 

Brogr then made his way to the spacious bathroom, and one could imagine his surprise to see that the pad surrounding the edge of the toilet was lined in gold. He was, quite appropriately, pissing in gold.

But as he washed his face with the warm water from the sink, (and what a commodity that was) he suddenly stopped, and all of his memories came flashing back. He saw it all, he remembered it in full detail now: the battle, the hordes of demons, the fire, all of it, the screams of both giants and asgardians alike, and the horror of being caught in the middle of it all.

The blacksmith's legs gave out from under him, and he came crashing down on the floor with a loud thump. Soon after, the a knock was heard from the closed door: "Is everything alright?"   
Brogr gripped the edge of the sink, using it to support his weight as he struggled to calm down his panic. His lungs felt caged, he could barely breath and form coherent thoughts.

"Brogr Gerrilsson, are you alright?" he did not even hear her voice, and a in a few short moments, the healer came in, and quickly kneeled to his side. "Brogr. Brogr, look at me." she ordered, holding him by the shoulders as he sat there, with his eyes closed, tears forming from them.

Soon, Brogr felt the tightness over his chest lift itself, and the shock seemed to dissipate. He opened his eyes again to look at the healer, he could see the faint trace of green around the edges of his view.   
"What? What did you do?" "I did my duty as a healer. Now come, you mustn't be late for the meeting." 

"How... how many are left?" he asked, and surprisingly, his voice didn't quiver, "How many of my cohort are left?" he repeated himself.

"You will see." she kept avoiding his question, instead biding him to dress up. 

It was a little bit of a chore, having to put on his shirt while still being wrapped in the bandages, and he had to flatten in out enough so that the wrappings wouldn't press against his scars.

The healer led him through the castle, past large, winding corridors and halls, flanked by the most amount of decoration that Brogr had ever seen. If this had been in another situation, he would have probably been amazed; but now he couldn't help but feel nervous. The woman in front of him kept alluding to some kind of meeting, but she wouldn't tell him anything else other than that.

The image of Beigarth's bloody corpse appeared in his mind for a moment, which caused him to halt his steps.

But he was able to banish the vision away from his sight. The healer hadn't even noticed his slight slip up, and kept walking forward.  
"We're here, and do remember proper manners and etiquette." she advised him, but it did nothing but put him on guard.

"I shall be on my way then." the woman spoke to him one last time before turning on her heel and proceeding back down the hallway from which they had come.

Brogr slowly pushed the great set of doors that were placed in front of him. He was treated to a large room, and the first thing that stood out to him was the frankly gargantuan table that was settled in the middle of the place. Around the table were several chairs, and around them, were another eight individuals.

He recognized them as the members of his cohort, and the most recognizable of them all where Eyvind and Ana, both sporting eyepatches. They stared at him coldly, but not as hatefully as the smith had been expecting.

Silently, he made his way forward, nearing one of the large, cushioned chairs. A couple others gave him a nod of acknowledgment, which he returned. 

There was tension present in the room, and Brogr knew well that the others were probably still weary of his loyalty, Norns, he could practically feel Ana's desire to run him through with her sword.  
Luckily for him, they were all weaponless, and instead sported simple clothing as he did. But if he payed enough attention, he could notice the white of the covered bandages, which meant that they too were in a state like him. But it was also true that a good number of recruits had stumps in the places where there limbs were supposed to be.

"What are we doing here?" a lad finally asked, breaking the silence. The others shook their head and murmured phrases of confusion, the lad then turned to Eyvind, "Leader?" he too shook his head, "I am as ignorant as you in this matter."

"Has your father said anything?" Brogr spoke out, and Eyvind's single eye narrowed, targeting the blacksmith specifically, "What does my father have to do with this?" he practically growled out, resembling more a beast than man.  
"He is a high ranking captain, so he must know many things, given that you lead us based off of the information that he gives you." Brogr explained, trying to appear neutral. 

A young woman raised her voice next, directing their attention towards her: "Is there anyone left, other than us?" their leader shrugged his shoulders in response, "I wouldn't suppose so, given that Brogr here, is the worst and slowest out of all of us." his joke fell flat, and the smith bit his tongue, as to not respond to the obvious taunt.

They were the remaining nine of their entire cohort. From over sixty cadets, they were nearly a tenth now, and Brogr wondered what would happen now.

Would they be assigned to other cohorts? Would they be disbanded and sent back home?

His musings were cut short when the doors from which he had entered were opened once more: and a slew of einherjar guards marched forward. These ones were dressed in the garbs of the legions belonging to the queens, but they were significantly more armored than the common soldier, appearing more as towering gods in their own right with their tall horned helmets and wide pauldrons.

The two chairs closest to the now open exit were removed, in favor of two more elaborate thrones, both detailed with runes and markings clearly befitting of royalty.

Finally, the royal guards moved to the edges of the room, vastly outnumbering them four to one. They were silent, and operated as if controlled by a single mind; that was how synchronized and perfect their movements were.

They guards stood ramrod still, their entire figure was fixated in position, gaze directed towards a specific point in front of them. A sense of dread began to settle in Brogr's stomach.

It was at that point that the sound of footsteps was heard, coming from the hallway outside of the large chambers. The recruits turned their heads towards the door, having they too noticed the approaching people, as the noises clearly indicated that there were more than one.

Whoever was walking did so with confidence and security; each step was measured and collected, very much militaristic in effect.

Brogr waited with baited breath; the blacksmith had a very good idea of who was arriving, but he tried to tell himself otherwise, his mind doing flips through the air as he tried to steady himself.

The two guards that were closest to the door banged their spear against the stone floor, and the rest bowed low. 

From the gap, came through two tall figures, decked out in armor with differing colors: the one to the left was dressed in black and green; the uru plated suit seemed to hug her lithe and toned body, while also being teasing to the gaze; a blade of the darkest black Brogr had ever seen was strapped to her side, a crown of horned antlers adorned her head and made her sharp blue eyes all the more evident amongst the pale, gentle skin.  
The other woman was instead clad in golden lined armor, noticeably bulkier than the one of her counterpart, but that still proved pleasing to the eye. She instead carried sword that was adorned with two secondary blades that curved off at the start of the steel. The crown she wore was one of gold that covered the sides of her face; two large wings sprouted from them, and the overall design of the helm left her mane of red hair viewable to all, but it was her piercing white irises that garnered the most attention.

The pair of women were the queens Aldrif and Hela Odinsdottir, respective rulers of Heven and Hel, the crown princesses of the asgardian empire.

Brogr's heart seemingly stopped in that moment, as his breath hitched at the sight of their ethereal beauty. But behind that beauty, was hidden evil, cruelty and a complete lack of empathy.

The blacksmith quickly remembered his due and quickly knelt, lowering both his head and his gaze, staring numbly at the elaborate floor.  
He heard the two women of royal blood moving closer to the throne, and judging by noises that their capes were producing, it seemed as if they had sat down.

Due to the formation of the table and seats, Brogr was the closest recruit to them from the right side. The young man felt himself be devoured by a wave of fear and danger. He could feel their cold, biting seidr dancing across his skin; their mere presence alone emanated an amount of power and energy that he had never felt before, such was their level of strength.

A smooth, velvet-like voice echoed out, caressing his ears, almost as if faintly tickling them: "Rise and be seated recruits." the order was immediately obeyed, for Brogr and the others sat themselves at the table.

The smith steepled his fingers, as to prevent them from shaking. Norns, he wished the floor would just open up from under him and swallow him while; he Brogr could not take the stress right now: he had done everything he could've possibly done in his power to avoid the eventuality of such a situation, and yet, here he was; in the presence of Asgard's two best warriors.

The queens looked the young warriors over, briefly scanning them with their eyes. Brogr could not see how the others were taking this, for they were at his back. It was in that moment that Brogr truly felt helpless and at the mercy of the pair of monsters in front of him. The familiar tightness in his chest from before returned, and the smith tried his best to breath out slowly and silently; internally praying to the Norns for some kind of help, of salvation, anything at all.

The Goddess of Death was seated closest to him, and when she gazed at him, the tips of her delicate, rosy lips turned upwards, fashioning themselves into a predatory smile. 

Brogr swallowed, and he dearly hoped that princess Hela had not taken offense. He had briefly looked at her in the eye; there was an unsettling glee in her pupils, that of one who dearly loved the battlefield, and all of the carnage of war. And they seemingly looked through his body and into his soul, almost like swords; Brogr nearly felt naked to her, and he had to repress the urge of wanting to shudder.

Luckily, the queen turned to stare at someone behind him, Brogr tried his best to compose himself, anxiously waiting for them to address them properly. He dared not imagine what would happen to him if he as so much annoyed them... the smith had no intentions of wanting to find out.

"Greetings cohort. It greatly pleases both my sister and I that you have decided to join us on the behest of our invitation." Queen Aldrif spoke, and though her words were warm and non threatening, they certainly did nothing to even hide the underlying yield of authority

As their de facto leader, the responsibility of answering fell onto Eyvind; so he cleared his throat, and spoke in a sure, confident tone, befitting of his station, "Venerable princesses, it is our honor to have been given rest and food by your gracious hospitality, as is our honor to meet Asgard's future rulers." they were flowery words, meant to please and stoke the ego of those who were arrogant.  
But the two mature women barely batted an eye, and were unaffected by his compliments.

"We wish to thank you, as well as on the behalf of our fallen comrades whose souls are feasting in Valhalla, for leading us in this glorious war." still more flattery.  
Brogr shrank every time their gaze would focus on him, as they alternate between looking at the recruits and Eyvind.

He could feel the thumping of his heart in his ears, he could not bare to look at them for more than a few instances. And whenever he did was when their attention was on someone else. Their mere presence made him feel small, insignificant, like a stain of shit on the floor, to be avoided and frowned upon with disgust. 

But the gazes of the queens contained some kind of primal hunger, as if he were a simple fawn lost in the dark forest, and they the hungry wolves, stalking him through the shadows; maybe they had been able to sense his fear and worry, and maybe it was only a matter of time before one of them decided to execute him.

Brogr's mind kept thinking of all the bad scenarios and outcomes that this meeting could have... he remembered of his suspected treason, of his lack of loyalty to the Allfather; and he prayed that the particular piece of information wouldn't evoke known.

"But we would also like to know of how the war has been one. At the moment, we know not the details, but we are willful to toast to your brave actions."  
Queen Hela decided to satisfy the second son's request: "Thanks to your perseverance and honor, you managed to fend off the army of fire giants long enough for us to rearrange the legions and catch Surtur off guard. Had it not been for you, the craven would have surprised us completely unaware, and untold amounts of destruction would have been waged on our forces. But," she paused, sending a smirk towards queen Aldrif, "It was my sister who struck the killing blow, thus ending the conflict once and for all." 

The redhead heartily chuckled, lightly raising the rune sword, "And after slaying the bastard, I have taken the Twilight Sword as my own by right of conquest." awed gasps were heard, as the others stared at the blade with wonder, even Brogr was defined impressed with it, as he was with the strange black sword that queen Hela carried.

Time seemed to pass extremely slowly as the Allfather's firstborn went into more detail to fill in the gaps of their memories, all the while Brogr tried to keep calm.

"And now that the war has ended, you will be rewarded, as thanks for your overall contributions." the recruits were smiling widely, and it was clear that they were very happy indeed. Brogr kept his face straight, which earned him another look from the royal dressed in black and green.

"Tonight, you shall feast in our castles hall, for you will have a table all for yourselves." Eyvind thanked the rulers profusely.   
"That will be all for now. I trust that you will stand readily available in case we call you back, correct?" she received nods of confirmation, "If not then we shall see each other at the feast later today. You may go and rest." 

The blacksmith got up to his feet, bowed to the two monarchs along with the remainder of the cohort, and began to walk towards the doors that had now been opened.

He was nearly out of the room, when a single sentence stopped him in his tracks, "Wait." queen Hela had spoken, causing the rest of the recruits to halt as well.   
"I would like for one to return at the table, for I am curious." Eyvind looked at the others, confused, "Which one of us, your majesty?" he asked.

"Oh, the one with the missing left finger, who was seated closest to me." Brogr's comrades snapped their heads towards him, and he looked at the queen unsurely.  
Neither of the princesses had turned around to look at them, "The rest of you may leave." "Of course princesses." and with that the cohort was ushered out.

"Guards, leave us as well. Close the doors and make sure that no one eavesdrops. As for you child, come, I won't bite..." he had forgotten that the two were thousands of years old; and compared to them, he truly was a youth.  
The royal warriors stepped out of the large chambers, their armor lightly clanking as they went. Brogr was worried, more worried than he had ever been in his entire life.

Slowly, he sat back down, this time though at the end of the table, opposite to them. His excuse was that he did it so that he could properly pay attention to both at them and not disrespect them, but the truth was that he was trying to put as much space as he could between them.  
Aldrif shared an amused look with her equal, "My my sister, you certainly have a good eye for interesting individuals." 

Brogr nearly stuttered as he spoke out, "My queens, how may I- "Interesting indeed." queen Hela spoke now, and the Goddess of the Hunt chimed in, "No one from the capital city has ever called us queens... you are from one of the colonized realms are you not?" 

The blacksmith nodded, "From where exactly?" she insisted and Brogr swallowed thickly once more, "Svartalheim your grace. I was born and raised there for the majority of my life." he answered honestly, hoping to satisfy whatever questions they had in order to be let go.

"Hmm... do we make you scared boy? Is our presence that striking?" the redhead queen asked, indicating at the space between them.  
"I... I am not worthy of being placed so close to the two most important individuals in the empire." 

Hela chuckled, and he felt something brush against his consciousness, making close his eyes for a moment. "Those are sweet words," she commenced, "but they are lies." her voice turned colder.

Brogr started to sweat, "Y-your grace?" "Come, sit closer to us." Aldrif ordered, and he felt something push against his psyche, harder this time. He slowly got up from the chair and moved to another one.

The two queens were still staring uncannily at him, the predatory smiles still present on their faces.

"You are afraid of us boy... why is this?" the rule of Heven leaned back a little, propping her sword against the armrest of her throne. 

"I... I... do not know..." Brogr lowered his head, unable to maintain their eye contact. "Tell us, is it because you think that our ways are wrong? That we are bloodthirsty conquerors?"

He replied with a silent "Yes..." and he wrapped his arms around himself, feeling their dark seidr crawl up his body.

The tone of the princess was as sharp as a blade, "What is your name?" "Brogr Gerrilsson..." 

"Do you know what we do to traitors and deserters Brogr?" he shook his head no, "We torture them. Slowly and painfully, we force them to spill out all of their little secrets, until they are left begging for the sweet release of death. But we do not give them that luxury; not until we've had our fun."

Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes, such was the stress, "Your graces please... I do not agree with your methods, it's true; but I've never contemplated treason, I just want to live happily, away from you." the pushing came back, but this time he did not fight back against it.

Wordlessly, queen Aldrif got off the throne, and walked around the table, towards him. Brogr did not look up, he did not cry but his shoulders were trembling, as was the rest of him.

She placed a cup of water in front of him, "Drink."she simply ordered, and he obeyed her, and his anxiety calmed a little.  
Hela smoothed her hands over her helm, and the antlers retread, revealing her smooth, silky raven black hair. Her eyes were still sharp and dangerous, but they did not hold that edge of bloodlust anymore.   
"You are an interesting individual Brogr. And though you believe us to be heartless, we still feel emotions the same as you, immortal or not."   
Brogr remained silent, still terribly afraid, "You... you won't hurt me?" "No." 

Aldrif spoke next, "Your soul suffers, does it not? Killing Beigarth was not an easy task." "H-Ho-How?" he whispered. "It does not matter how we know boy. As monarchs, we must learn how to take care of our people. And warfare is not something that all are meant to fight in."

He opted to remain silent, still unsure of what they were doing.   
The sisters seemed to share a single thought, as they shared a few silent words between each other: "We have a proposition to offer you." 

"What would it be?" "We will tell you in time. As of now, we are needed elsewhere." "Your case is a curios one indeed Brogr... bordering on treason..."

"I would never undermine the crown..." "And that would seem so. We shall see what the future will hold in store for you." they were still cryptic, and he did not know what to make of it.

"You may go now Brogr, and reflect on our words. Your life may depend on them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have presented the daughters of Odin well. I know that the conversation may seem short, but I want to still keep a little mystery around them.


	13. Rewards and Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brogr returns to Asgard.

Muspelheim, asgardian war camp...

They were made to march away from the camp. Truth to be told, the war camp wasn't so much as a camp anymore as it was a small city: complete with a castle, walls and districts. Norns, the queens somehow managed to get a river to flow through the middle of it, even if they were in a realm composed of fire and ash.

Even the simple act of terraforming this planet into a habitable one was a concept that Brogr still could not wrap his head around. Some foul seidr was at play here, it was the only logical explanation.  
From now on, the stereotypical image associated with the kingdom of the now deceased Surtur would only be remembered in memory and on the pages of old, dusty history books.

But at least these changes were positive, for he could now breathe in the fresh, clean air, and not worry of having to watch his step, with the danger of the ever lurking lava pools.

As the smith walked alongside his remaining comrades, his ears only heard the large bustling of armored footsteps. It was a sight that Brogr would never forget: the one of seeing a sea of faceless individuals simply marching forward. It was of course a blatant display of asgard's power and wealth.

Naturally, not all legions would leave the newly founded cities: some would stay, and along with them their families, the new populace to inhabit the future settlements. Give or take half a century, then Muspelheim would become much like Svartalheim, Hel, Heven and Niflheim. Except here, (and Brogr was observant enough to notice) this world would become a mining one, considering the abundance of jewels and precious metals. And the Allfather was all too keen on hoarding mountains of gold to himself.

Brogr kept seeing Beigarth in his dreams... sometimes he would wake up and feel his blood coat his hands... he was still haunted by his actions.

The blacksmith kept ignoring the biggest mystery of them all though: the proposal that the two queens had yet to tell him. Even if it had been four days since he had last seen the monarchs, he was still very much shaken, still very much scared of the uncertainty that the women posed. It had gotten to the point that he half expected to have his throat slit open in the night, or to be suddenly apprehended with no prior warning and thrown into a dark, smelly cell. 

They knew very much well that he was different and viewed things differently than the regular asgardian; some would say that his ideology and opinions were heretical and treasonous... but why hadn't they acted yet? Why had they seemingly spared him when the chance to kill him had been presented to them on a silver platter? 

So many questions and unforeseen possibilities, it was putting the smith in a dangerous position. Once he returned home to his father, he would throw himself to work, and create weapons like any good blacksmith. Brogr would try his very best to lay low, and avoid all contact with the higher up authorities.  
Maybe, by doing this the royal heirs would forget about him; he was but a simple blacksmith after all, not a mighty warrior, or a genius tactician, or an expert seidr wielder.

The future was not written in stone... there would always be a choice to determine his own fate... and he would try his best to live out his life as he always wanted, fulfilling his dreams.

Shortly later...

The inside of the bifrost was alight with people, warriors, all of them.   
The trip back had amazed him as it had the first time, it had left pure wonder in his eyes, to see all of those colors and stars, the vastness of the roots of the Yggdrasil; all encompassing, and all present.

Of course, they had to move away from the entrance of the ancient machine, Heimdall was still there, activating the bridge again and again in order to bring back the vast armies.  
Eyvind and Ana kept sending him hateful looks... they were still angry at him for whatever reason, but he noticed that the boy's face held the traces of jealousy, whilst the girl's held regular hate, hate that originated from blind adoration and love...

Luckily, he was marching a few spots in front of him, and they would never do anything dishonorable, for they were two proud.  
The golden city was alive with celebration: the lake was unnaturally full with ships that were equipped with sails depicting the sigil of the crown, and skips were whizzing by in the air, releasing flowers all over the multicolored bridge. 

When they entered the city proper, they were greeted by the civilians, who praised them and welcomed them back with open arms.  
Laughter was present in the air, as was music, there were various plays, the taverns kept the flow of mead and wine going. It was surreal to see such happiness, and for a moment Brogr was caught in it as well, but then he remembered what the war had cost, what he had to suffer and the scars that he had garnered because of his involvement.  
The sense of happiness was soon replaced with one of utter disgust; Brogr felt dirty, it was wrong, all of their celebrating was wrong it- "Move!" Eyvind shouted and pushed him forward.

He had gotten so lost in his emotions that he hadn't even realized that he had stopped walking all together. Brogr said nothing, but he removed his helm, holding it in his arm.  
The scars still itched every time that he moved in certain ways for the plating pressed against his skin, and it aggravated the still healing wounds. It was always a chore having to clean them, but it was for the best at least.

They kept walking and not too much time later, the legions were finally allowed to disband and to return to their loved ones. Brogr saw many young men and women be greeted by their families... but he would have to move further into the capital city, to get to his father's shop.

The streets really were full with people, for the smith had to push through hordes of his fellow asgardians just to move a little bit.  
The armor was cumbersome and bulky in these conditions, and the edge of his axe had gotten caught in festive cloths several times, which caused him to nearly fall.  
But with patience and will, he eventually made it through the massive crowds, and was able to enter the richer areas.

Even with the disparity of wealth, the upper classes of society were still celebrating, and with much more gusto too. These arselickers were light and few enough that he could successfully walk freely, but the strum of chords, the beats of drums and the echos of flutes were becoming overwhelming, and it gave him the urge to grasp his weapon.

It was too chaotic here, it reminded him too much of the battlefield, of the slaughter, of the fire demons and the screams.  
"Brogr!"

He heard his name being called and he whirled around, trying to locate the origin of it.

"Brogr! Brogr over here!" the smith kept turning, still unable to make out the position of the caller, for the music was still too loud.

"Brogr!" 

He saw him then, his father Gerril.

"Father!" Brogr shouted and sprinted towards him, as did the older man. They embraced, and the recruit ignored the flaring pain form his bruises, given the several pieces of armor that pressed against his torso.

"Oh, oh Brogr I missed you! I feared for the worse!" the son held his parent close patting his back softly, aware of the metal gauntlet and of the fact that his father was dressed in simple clothing. "I'm here father... it's over... the war is over... all of it. I'm back... I'm back..." he could feel the tears that had welled up at the edges of his eyes, and didn't stop them from trailing down his cheeks.

Gerril pulled back, a happy smile etched on his lips, "I... you weren't allowed to send letters... I could not know if..." "I'm back father, I'm safe."   
The cheering crowd was oblivious to the two, and so they were ignored, but a few people rudely bumped into them.

"Father, can we go back to your shop? I... I'm not in the mood to stay out in the streets... and I'm frankly tired, and dirty as well." the older man nodded his head, and had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the storming noises of the crowd: "Of course Brogr! Come, let's get back home then."

A short while later...

The interior of the shop hadn't changed that much, safe for a few things here and there. Brogr could see the open chimney; that was definitely a new addition. And the calm silence present in the building was a much welcomed changed from the chaos outside.   
Even now, the thrum of the singing and yelling could be heard if one focused enough, but it was ignorable. 

"Where.." his father began to ask, pointing towards his set of steel and the large war axe strapped to his back, "Where do you want to put it?" Brogr sighed, already beginning to unstrap the laces that held the plated pauldrons mounted on his shoulders.

"Anywhere is fine, really. You could also throw it into one of the unused rooms. I could care less of it." they both heard the echoing, soft footsteps upon the wooden floor, and Thangbrand came into the room.  
"Gerril? I heard another voice, is a guest with you? Do you want me to tell the others to prepare- he stopped, staring wide eyed at the blacksmith.

"Hello Thangbrand, it is good to see you once again." Brogr began to speak, presenting his now unarmed hand to the other in order to initiate a handshake, which was immediately returned. 

"Brogr, Norns it has been some time. Look at you here, coming back victorious after defeating that craven Surtur! I image that you will want to celebrate. I shall go then to prepare a bath!" the servant had already turned around and was proceeding to the stairs, a noticeable skip present in his pace.

Brogr frowned deeply at the mention of the war, a thing that Gerril noticed and gave him a questioning look, to which the smith simply mouthed back later.  
"Thangbrand! Thangbrand!" he called after him, causing the taller man to stop, "That won't be needed, please, I'm alright just the way that I am." 

The oldest of the trio made his voice known then, "It is alright Thangbrand, take the rest of the day off." Gerril took out a small pouch filled with silver coins, and a few gold ones as well, and threw it at him.  
"Here, go out and celebrate Asgard's victory with your wife, I... I will spend this evening talking with my son. Oh, before you go, please make sure to tell the others about this, they too may leave." the servant relayed him with a grateful look, "Thank you Gerril. Have a nice day, both of you. I shall see you on the morrow then." 

It was only when the last servant had left that Brogr began to fully strip of his gear. "Are you alright?" his father tenderly asked, "Yes... I am. I will go and take a bath... that actually sounds like a really good thing." he chuckled, but it was a false one, one that hid a deeper layer of emotions.

"Very well then. I will be waiting, the closing hour is still away, and take as much time as you want or need in the tub." he thanked him, and proceeded to walk away.   
The armor was unceremoniously dumbed on the floor of the bathroom, and it was there that Brogr took off his shirt, and realized something.

He opened the door once more, "Father?" he called out, and Gerril's head popped out from the hallway, "Yes?" "Do you happen to have bandages and an additional towel?" "Yes, do you need them?" he voiced his affirmation. "Good, I'll bring them in." "You can leave them just outside the door actually." 

His father hadn't seen his scars, given that he had his behind the door, but he was going to tell him, later... he would also show him the other scars as well...

For now, Brogr opted to strip out of his pants and small clothes, sighing in satisfaction of finally being able to freely move around and not be weighed down from the cumbersome metal. 

He opened the conduct of hot water, and leveled the temperature so that it was to his liking. Once that had been done, he retrieved a bowl and a bar of soap. The bowl was filled with cool water, and it was in that moment that he heard his father walk by and deposit the things that he had asked for.

When Gerril's footsteps were out of earshot, the smith gently opened the door and grabbed the white wrappings and the cloth.

Finally, the tub had been filled, and Brogr entered it, laying down in it with a content hum. The warmth of the water unknotted the tension in his muscles, and allowed him to relax.   
The soap came in next, and he used it to clean himself, giving special attention to his armpits and groin. These spots easily got dirty thanks to all of the hairs that were there, as did his ass. The hairs that grew on his buttocks were damn annoying sometimes, but with age, he came to tolerate and accept them. 

He avoided the two large scars, those; those itched whenever he touched their sensitive points. Brogr had visited the healer's ward again back in Muspelheim, but the people there had been unable to explain how come they still hurt, even after all of this time.

With another sigh, the blacksmith got out of the bath, wrapping a large towel around himself. After drying up enough, and sliding up a new pair of undergarments, he called to his father once more.

"Brogr, what do you need?" "Can you... come in father? I need to tell you something." Gerril entered the room, and briefly gave it a scan, his eyes focusing on the wet tub.

"Was the temperature not to your liking?" "Oh, no, the bath was excellent, as always. It's another thing that I want to talk about. Please, please sit there on the bench, it might take me some time... that is if you have to go back to the entrance of the shop?"

The older man waved his hand at him, "I've closed the shop, you have my full attention now." Brogr sighed and nodded, collecting himself.

He let the towel slide off his body, exposing the multitude of cuts to his father. Gerril's eyes looked as if they were goin to pop out, his mouth was left agape, lips lightly moving as they tried to compose coherent words and phrases. "Brogr... my son... what, what happened to you?" 

The blacksmith did not have the strength to face his father, so he looked at the ground glumly. "This is what the war has cost me." to further emphasize his point, he showed him his missing finger, and the tip of his ear. 

Tears were streaming down Gerril's face, and he softly cupped Brogr's cheeks holding him close, "Are... are you hurt? I- I- thi- "I'm fine father... after many times, I got used to it." 

He slowly moved to the bench, bringing his father with him and sitting them down. "Can, can I talk to you about it?" he silently asked, resting his hands on his knees and looking away.  
"Of course." Gerril soothingly rubbed his bare back, not missing the number of jagged lines that decorated them.

"When..." he began, trying to keep his voice strong, "when we first arrived we were sent on patrol duty. That was our first given task after having set up the camp." Brogr sighed, he was already regretting opening up about this, but he was going to commit to it now.

"It was on that day that I tasted battle for the first time, and saw the fire demons that inhabited the realm." his mind recalled his those cursed memories, all of the details, and the flaring pain he felt when wounded on the arm and leg. "A few of my fellow recruits died, but I did not reflect much on it, given that I was still shaken from the fight. We were made to return to camp, and the next day we were sent out on patrol again." Brogr sniffed his nose a bit, the glassy, watery look at the edges of his vision where an indication of incoming tears.

"It went on like that for a few weeks. We were always sent on patrol and scouting duty. And each day we would loose someone, and be caught up in a fight, I lost my finger during those times..." he trailed off, his voice getting lighter.

"And then, not too long ago... I... do... do you want me to continue?" he gave his father a questioning look, "You don't have to if you don't want to son." he patted his back, "But if you want to talk then I will listen and remain here until you no longer need my help."

"Alright... thank you father." he quietly replied, turning back to the floor, "I would have nightmares at night... I kept reliving the days again and again, this time I was fighting a demon, this other time a giant, some nightmares we were winning, some we were losing." he took in a deep breath, "Some nights, I would dream about... mother. I would see her..." he began to talk about her but quickly stopped, "No, I'm losing myself here sorry." Brogr apologized, "Do not worry." 

"I had accepted my inevitable demise father... it seemed like an assured guarantee that I would fall to the weapons of one of the enemies. And then, we received word of a large battle that was going to be taking place. A massive attack, meant to severely cripple and possibly wipe out the fire giant Surtur, the king of that realm." his body had begun to tremble a little bit.

"It was horrible. Worse than the Ginnungagap father, the death and destruction, it was enough to make sane men go mad." he stopped once more, still trying to reign in and control his emotions.

"There was a comrade of mine... Beigarth was his name. We were never really close, not that we where enemies or rivals... we just never really talked or interacted with each other." Brogr rocked his torso back and forwards a little bit.

"He was always quiet, never caused any trouble and was all around nice and respectful to nearly anyone." tears were now in his eyes, and he remembered those dreaded moments. "Then... the dragon dove..." he paused, briefly licking his lips as his father gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, "There was a dragon nearby, it was being harassed and confronted by a group of valkyries... then for something... for some reason... the dragon dove into our direction."

He shut his eyes closed, "And Beigarth was in its path..." his voice cracked then, "and it bit right into him, right through the steel of his armor... an-and it took awa-away his arm and nearly half of h-his b-bo-body..." he chocked out a sob, and Gerril hugged him, "And he was laying there, his intestines and organs all over the floor so I came to help him... and h-he was still bre-breathing." he was shaking now, his whole body trembling as he held onto his father as if his life depended on it.

"And he's still there... and he's talking to me, he keeps saying 'Brogr help, help me Brogr, help me' and I'm trying to hold him close! His blood is all over my hands, on my body and he was still alive! He still called out to me to help him! And no one would come to help!" he cried, screaming in pain at what he had been forced to endure.

"And his blood... his blood is all over me and he's still calling me! S-soI k-k-killed him... I stabb-bed the knife..." he sobbed more, his throat raw with emotions, his face was red and his eyes were puffy.  
"The knife... the o-one I firs-st made! The first th-that I had f-forged! Right through hi-his heart! And still he would call out to me, asking me what was I doing? Why was I hurting him? I..." he hiccuped, still sobbing, "I killed him... I... killed him! Father... I..."

Gerril shushed him, his own tears were back with renewed vigor, heartbroken of learning all of the pain his poor boy had been forced to endure.  
"I still see him... even when I'm awake..." he whispered hoarsely, "I'm still covered in his blood, and he still questions me... and it's been like that ever since... every day, it happens... and I still think that I'm in the battle..." he weeped.

"And... and the others thought nothing of it! They just kept on fighting... and now that I've returned, I look outside and see all of those cheering fools on the streets, celebrating the conquest of Muspelheim, and... and I'm disgusted and angry! And they have the audacity to still treat me poorly simply because I am a recruit! Who are they to do so?! Unless they've did what I've done, and fought like I had... and yet they don't realize it... don't realize that the corpses of the recruits are then resurrected into mindless entities, capable only of serving..." his voice had gotten weaker, and so had his drive of anger.

Brogr pressed his face into the shoulder of his father, crying more; Gerril could do nothing but hold him close, trying his best to comfort his grieving and suffering son.   
"I... hic I... could not hic stand..." "Do not worry Brogr... it has ended... thank the Norns it has ended..." he shifted his arms a bit, to better hold him. "It is alright now... you are with me... you don't have to fight anymore... it's over. It's done."

"I'm... I'm... a monster..." "No, no Brogr you are not... you helped him, you most of all. He... he did not deserve to die like that; but you put him out his misery." Brogr gripped him tighter, the tremors that inhabited his body still very much present.

They stayed huddled together like that for a long time, for more than an hour, but Gerril was not going to let his son kill himself over such a cause. He too was horrified, and he too became angry at himself for sending him to the training grounds those two years ago.

Slowly, Brogr released his hold on Gerril, and sniffled a little bit, snot running abundantly down his nose and over his lips, so the smith wiped it away with the back of his hand.

He looked back down to the ground again, "Thank you father... for listening..." "There's no need to thank me Brogr. I will always be ready to help you, you... you just have to tell me, and I will listen."  
Brogr nodded, getting back up to his feet, brushing the remainder of his tears away. 

His father remained in the room, even assisting him in placing the new set of bandages back on. By the time that they had finished all of it, the sun was setting, but the ballads and music still hadn't diminished in the slightest.

"For dinner, we could go to a tavern if you want, the patrons are providing free meals and mead to all." the thought of eating in a building tightly packed with people, all of whom were going to be boasting and singing praises to Asgard's might wasn't one that he wished to experience.  
"Would it be alright if we ate alone? Just the two of us?" he asked his father, and wished he could slap himself for how meek he sounded. "It is not a problem, I can still bring the food from the tavern, unless you wish to have fish?" "No, meat will do perfectly fine."

Gerril approached the door, intent on walking to the tavern to finish his deed, but stopped and turned around to face him: "Is there anything that you would like in particular." Brogr thought about it, and he quickly decided on what to get, "Honeyed lamb. And with a side of cooked onions and carrots and some burnt bacon, blackened and crisp, if they serve it." "Would you also like a cherry pie? And maybe some mead as well to wash it all down?" the smith nodded his head and his father was off, the door clicking shut from behind him.

Brogr sat down in the nearby chair and sighed, tiredly rubbing his face with his hands. It had been a long day, at least a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. However, there were still things he had to talk to his father about. 

Something seemed amiss though, as if someone was missing. It gave him pause, trying to think of the person who eluded his mind.   
But of course it was that bitch! Now that he really thought about it, Brogr had yet to even see her! Where was she? Why hadn't his father talked or even named her in all of this time?

It was strange, but that could mean that maybe they had separated? Gone their own separate ways? Had his father finally seen the truth?

Gerril's arrival surprised him, and his hand instinctively went to grab his axe, only to realize that it wasn't strapped to his back anymore. It seemed as if he would have to get used to the normal dealings of life. The smith just hoped that he could regain that sense of calm and tranquility that the war had stripped away.

"Well then. We can go eat our meal in one of the proper rooms upstairs." his father announced, huffing a little bit as he was carrying a few bags and a small barrel which contained the beer.  
Wordlessly, the young man helped the senior one to bring all of the stuff into the appropriate room.

There, Brogr set down one of the bags and opened it, and his nose was hit with a myriad of different smells that tickled his olfactory sense. "The cooks were nice enough to pack the food into these bags so that they wouldn't get cold. But the tavern was really full, I struggled to even get to the ordering stool."

With a satisfied hum, the blacksmith took out the large plate which contained all of that he wished to feast on. His mouth watered at the sight of all of that luscious meat, colored a soft gold thanks to the honey that coated it.  
Gerril placed the barrel on the table with a heavy thud, and unscrewed the cork, before lightly tipping it forward and filling up the two large cups.

Soon, they were seated, both equipped with proper utensils and both ready to eat. "To your return Brogr." his father stated, raising his cup. "To us... and to Beigarth, may the Norns bless his soul." a solemn veil of silence was placed on them, and then they brought the cups to their lips and drank.

Now that he was older, the mead did not taste as horribly as he thought it would, it was actually quite refreshing, and invigorating as well.

When he put the mead down, he realized that some foam had coated his mustache, he wiped it off, and his father chuckled. "I must shave, I didn't realize how much my facial hair had grown until now." "It suits you son. You look like a true blacksmith, big, muscled and with a large mane. You only need to improve on your beard a little more." 

Brogr rubbed his chin, and decided that his father did have some right to it. Perhaps it wasn't that much of a bad thing.

Then the recruit stabbed his fork into the hefty piece of lamb, cut off a part of it with his knife, and placed it in his waiting maw. Brogr nearly moaned at the fantastic taste of it, it was fantastic! 

Quickly, he ate some of the onions and steamed carrots, relishing in their slightly spicy flavor, and added the crunchy bacon to the mix, to create a combination that was truly wonderful.

And he sent it down to his gullet with another round of beer. On and on it went like that, until he had completely finished his meal, and after that, his pie.

Once that was done, Brogr leaned back; he was most definitely pleased with this dinner, for it had truly surpassed his expectations.  
Now, they sat there sipping the mead, the barrel still being full at more than three quarters.

"Father?" "Hmm?" "May I ask you something?" his father took another gulp, emptying his cup, and answered as he began to refill it for the fourth time: "Go ahead." "What happened to Hlif?"

Gerril's entire body went rigid for a moment, but quickly resumed moving. He sighed, "We separated. I realized that she didn't truly love me, and that she was only using me as a tool."

The blacksmith didn't comment, unsure on what else to say, not wanting to offend or provoke his father.  
"The truth is Brogr, that you were right: I have been a fool blinded by love. And it took me far to long to realize that." "When did this happen?" "A little over a month ago. I finally understood that she was a lying whore willing to spread her legs to whichever man could please her best." he drank some more.

"But you made me understand that you had helped me become better in that regard, and I am now more careful when dealing with other people." "I am pleased to hear that." Brogr went to drink but realized that his cup was empty.

"Here, give me that." his father said as he took his cup out of his hand and into his own. Had he been more sober, then he would have realized that they had already consumed a sizable amount of mead, and that they were clearly getting more and more drunk as the minutes ticked away.

"That, that slut was a vixen, truly. She managed to play on my feelings and emotions... but I shouldn't be that surprised that she did considering the state I was in." Brogr reflected on the period of time that had come after his mother's passing.

"I remember that time. You would always be at the tavern, and I would rarely see you." the smith commented, "It was in that phase that I discovered my passion for forging. And the local smithy became my best and only friend since then." "I've been a horrible father to you Brogr. I wasn't strong enough like you, I could not take the loss of my wife the same way that you did. My soul was lost in a never ending cycle of pain."

Tears were running down his cheeks as he recalled those long days, "And then that rotten woman, Hlif took advantage of my situation. I just wanted to feel your mother's arms around me once more; I wanted to hold her, and be loved, and in doing so I became blind to that bitch's lies. And you suffered because of it." he sighed, drinking from the cup.

"And I helped her in it." "No you did not father, you did not treat me as badly." "Not as badly, but still not well enough. But at least we look forward to the future... and I will try to repay you for all of the pain and grief that I have caused you. I promise you Brogr, on the Norns, on Rannveig." the younger man leaned in to embrace his father, wanting to curse the table as it prevented him from fully hugging him.

"I am glad of it." Gerril stated quietly, staring at the mead in his cup and gulping down more, as did Brogr. "Of what?" "Of the fact that you took after your mother... I have never met a woman stronger than her. She had a drive in her, something unseen and exceedingly rare. And I can see the same strength in you my son. At least I can rest easy that she lives on through you."

They shared a tender chuckle, drinking some more, both unaware of the fact that they were emptying the barrel. 

"When was it that you met her?" "Your mother?" Brogr nodded as his father rested his head against his propped up arm, laughing a little bit, "Rannveig, oh Norns was she something! It seemed as if it happened yesterday. I can still recall what it was like seeing her for the first time." 

The blacksmith drank some more. "I was but a boy, who had just become a man, and I remember it clearly: for some reason, I was carrying messages back and forth; I was a page at the time, and my days were usually spent like that. At one point, I found myself walking along a wall, and when I turned around the edge of it, I crashed into someone. As it turned out, it was Rannveig, your mother."

Brogr listened closely, captivated by the retelling of events: "She had the most beautifully eyes that I had ever seen, blue like the clearest of the glaciers that can be found in Jotunheim. And that wasn't even taking in consideration her long, blond hair, brighter than the most splendent of gold. Again, I had just escaped from the claws of boyhood, and was immediately attracted to her. We simply excused each other and went on our own ways." he paused to swallow another mouthful of mead.

"And for the following weeks, I would follow her, eager at the possibility of being able to witness her beauty." "You stalked her?" Brogr joked, "Of course not you idiot! I certainly was not perverted enough to do that! And had I done so, she would've castrated me right there on the spot." Gerril retorted with a barking laugh, his cheeks colored red due to the excessive amounts of alcohol that he had consumed.

"Eventually, she noticed, and it did not take long until the roles were reversed. And then, she cornered me, and forced me to reveal the truth." he brushed his lips, "I was expecting to be punched, or humiliated, but instead, she kissed me." 

"I would have never thought, and it stills renders me speechless to think that she decided to marry me of all people." "I thought that we would have been too different for each other, and yet, she chose me to be her husband."

Brogr refilled his cup, not noticing that some of the liquid had fallen to the floor, "And then I came into the picture." "Yes, it did not take long until you were born. I loved her, dearly, I loved her with all my heart, I gave myself to her fully, and she did the same to me. It was something special Brogr, truly."

"I miss her." the blacksmith admitted, "There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of her. She truly was my stone, my moral compass."  
The young man drank some more, his mind alight with dizziness.

"Brogr, I must tell you that I suspected that she was a part of the legions once. She... she had this resilience in her that was not found in a normal citizen in me. And after a few years with her, I noticed it: the way in which she would always look around the rooms that we went in, almost as if expecting an attack." the blacksmith reflected on his father's confession, which seemed to be connecting some dots.

"Mother," Brogr began, "I remember that she disliked war, or at least she was contrary to the idea of it. She would always tell me that there was nothing noble or glorious in killing and fighting. And... she was right, there isn't any of it." that could only mean one thing.

"Then it is confirmed that she was involved in some sort of conflict; or at least something that made her completely reject the ways and arts of warcraft." his father added, the question laying a thick veil over them. 

"But what was she then? Did she ever talk about her past, did she ever wield a weapon in front of you?" Brogr asked, his dazed mind trying to find a solid grasp on the subject as he felt the urge to sleep.

"No, she was always secretive about her past, would never speak about it, and I haven't seen her so much as look at a weapon except for kitchen knifes. And even then, she used them normally, as any other regular person would." his father explained.  
There were still more mysteries regarding his mother, questions that he would never know the answers of. It made him miss her all the more, and it saddened his heart.

The smith resolved himself to simply accepting the truth, that of their incapacity of knowing for sure, and placed his head in his hands, letting out a loud groan, "I have consumed to much mead..."   
"Yes, as a matter of fact, we've finished the entire barrel." Gerril muttered, holding the wooden and glass object horizontal to the ground. Not a drop escaped from the hole.

The older asgardian heartily chuckled in disbelief, "Well, looks like we really overworked ourselves, isn't that right son?" he heard no answer, so he turned to look at him, "Brogr?" he saw that the smith had passed out, his head resting on the sturdy table.

Gerril said nothing, but smiled, for the image reminded him of himself when he was a little over twenty years younger. "At least this one isn't addicted to drinking, thank the Norns that he's taken after you Rannveig..."   
Grunting a little, Gerril hooked his arm under his son's shoulders, and lifted him up with a heavy grunt. 

"Darn! Odin's eye are you heavy Brogr!" he exclaimed, huffing a bit and trying to support the blacksmith's heavier weight. The fact that he was just slightly taller certainly didn't help the father in this case, but he did not complain much.

It took Gerril a good five minutes to move Brogr into one of the guest bedrooms, after nearly tripping and falling to the floor several times, he had been forced to walk alongside the wall as to stay upright, as his own balance was compromised by the booze that was running in his veins.

"Norns be blessed, you really are heavy my boy! All of that muscle sure must amount to something!" Gerril was sweating as he settled his unconscious son on edge of the bed, throwing the covers one side, he pushed Brogr into the middle of the large mattress with another huff, and finally placed the bedsheets back on his body with a final flick of the arm.

"Finally..." Gerril took a couple of moments to stare at his son, and he smiled, truly happy of having him back with him. Slowly and delicately, he closed the door shut, and proceeded to go on his own way, intent on getting a long awaited and needed rest.

The next morning...

Brogr awoke from his slumber, and arose from the comfortable bed. He yawned, and was immediately hit with a headache, which caused him to fall back down to his back. 

The blacksmith groaned, trying to move around, but being unable to do so. His head swam in dizziness, he felt nauseous and disoriented, but he imagined that it was only natural.  
Still, the pain that he was experiencing was nothing compared to what he thought he would experience. It was true that he was still quite young to be drinking this heavily, even as an adult, but he would never have thought that it would feel this horrible.

Slowly, the dizziness abided enough for him to properly get out of the bed, and he realized that he was dressed. It would seem that his father managed to put him on the mattress, instead of letting him sleep on the table.

The blacksmith stumbled a bit, swaying back and forth as his hand went to grasp the door handle. Brogr exited the room and walked downstairs, first to the bathroom to relive himself, and then to the entrance of the shop. No one was there except for a couple of servants. The young man asked them if they knew where his father was, to which they unfortunately replied that they didn't know.  
"Thangbrand, where is he then?" "Over there, towards the end of the second hallway to the right." "Very well, thank you." 

Soon enough he met up with Thangbrand again, who greeted him warmly, "Ah, Brogr, good morning!" "Yes, good morning to you too." he replied in a much less enthusiastic tone. "Had a lot to drink, correct?"

The shorter asgardians groaned, "Is it that obvious?" "Yes, it is. If you want some advice, then eat some eggs and drink some chicken soup, they help with clearing out the nausea." Brogr nodded his head in thanks, "Do you know where father is?" "He went out to talk with lord Ulvkilsson. If you want to speak to him now than you would have to traverse through the streets; but given your current state I would advise against it, seeing as the entirety of Asgard is still celebrating. The noises would probably be very annoying, wouldn't they?" "Yes, they would." 

Brogr rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Listen, could you please have someone prepare some eggs and chicken soup?" "Of course, I'd cook them myself, but I am currently occupied with the task of coordinating and ordering the other servants to their own daily chores. But I will send someone to prepare your meal."

And in under ten minutes, a plate of freshly fried eggs and a bowl of chicken soup were placed in front of him.

Brogr gave a smile to the maid and thanked her, and the woman blushed and scurried away.   
He did not think much of it, and instead focused on eating his meal. The headache got better at least, and he was able to properly stand up and move around.   
It was then that he heard his father arrive.

"Father?" he called out to him, approaching the older man. Gerril turned towards him, dismissing the man he was talking to, a messenger by the looks of it. "Yes Brogr?" 

"Where were you? And more importantly, how are you not keeling over right now? I feel as if I've been struck by the mace of a frost giant." he groaned whilst his father let out a little laugh.   
"You will get used to it my boy. Your old man here has had many trials of practice. We ought to be careful next time we dine in such a manner." 

Gerril moved closer to him, "Come, I have yet to break my fast, would you please care to keep me company?" "Of course father."

They made it back to the same room where Brogr had eaten. "But to answer your first question, our lord had called for my presence, wishing to speak to me." "And?" the smith added, slightly curious to know if there was more to the story, "And nothing, nothing much of interest. He simply ordered me to keep order around the messengers and pages, given that king Odin has organized a number of feasts for the foreseeable weeks. Of course he invited all of the nobles and those of high rank to celebrate Asgard's victory over the realm of fire. But that doesn't really change much from what I do on a daily basis."

Then he remembered what he had forgotten to tell his father, of the meeting with the two queens, of their mysterious offer. Brogr wanted to punch himself for forgetting so carelessly. The mead really ah done a good number on his mind.

"Father, I have to tell you something else." the young man added quietly, "Sure, please do tell me." and then Gerril realized that it was a very serious matter and placed his fork back down on the plate, giving him his full attention.

"I am ready whenever you are, my son. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, just know that I will never pressure you into doing so." Brogr looked around the room, his eyes gazing on the moving forms of the servants. One of them could be a fanatical loyalist, and what he was about to say could put both him and his father at risk.

He turned back to his attentive parent, "Could we," he started, still looking around, "Could we go somewhere more private? I feel as if this isn't the best of places to discuss of my thoughts." 

Gerril stood up, "Yes, we can go down to the smithy." but Brogr stopped him, pulling back down to his seat, "Finish your meal at least." he chided, but his father wasn't having any of it, "To the dead with this blasted food! You are more important my son." "Thank you father, but please, I insist, finish your meal, we are not in a hurry." forcefully, he managed to convince him, and the other adult returned to consuming his meal, though eating with great speed as he did, eager to help his son.

"Alright then, I am done. We can go now, correct?" Brogr nodded and got up, moving behind his father as he lead him to the lower floor of the building.  
It was only when the large door was securely locked that the smith deemed them safe and alone enough to freely speak.

"I did not tell you of a thing that happened upon my recovery from the last battle of the war." Gerril sat down, but given his tense legs, he was ready to spring right back up at a moment's notice.   
"When I woke up, I was in the main keep of the war camp. The other healing recruits were my comrades, and the same day we were called to a meeting with queens." his father appeared shocked, "Th queens?" he asked uncertainly and Brogr sighed, "The Goddess of the Hunt and the Goddess of Death. Those two. The crown princesses." "And what did they tell you?"

The blacksmith crossed his arms and stared at the floor, "They praised us for our sacrifices and loyalty, and told us that we would be rewarded as a result." "Rewarded?" Brogr nodded, "A much higher part of the bounty and pay, several times the salary of an einherjar captain." "That much?" Gerril asked shocked once more. They were talking of a very considerable amount of gold.

"But there was also something else." "What then?"   
Brogr soothingly rubbed his forehead, "While we were leaving, they asked to speak to one of us, to speak to me." "You Brogr?" "Yes father, they wanted to talk to me specifically." 

"And... what did they want? What did they tell you?" his father asked him in an almost frantic manner.  
"They... they..." the blacksmith sighed once more, "They... I don't know to be honest, they seemed to think that I was a traitor, or guilty of treason for that matter..." "What?! Why in the Norns would they think such a thing?" "Because I do not approve of their methods of war father, because I view them as monsters... but they did not hurt me, they didn't even touch; they just told me that they had a proposition." 

Gerril was pacing around the room, a light sheen of sweat present on his face, "What about this proposition then? What did they say?" Brogr shook his head in denial, "I do not know... they did not tell me." "Well, have you spoken to them since then?" "No, I didn't even see them, I don't know what they want from me."

"This is dangerous Brogr, the fact that they stopped you because of such a thing is very worrisome..." "I know..." was his quiet reply.

"And you are sure that they did not try to plan another meeting with you? Are you sure that you may have missed something, someone maybe? You could have caused offense by not obeying to their demands." "No one has contacted me, absolutely no one... and I've been very careful of my surroundings, if they did want to speak to me, I would have known." Brogr explained.

Gerril kept pacing around the smithy, still lost in his thoughts, "They... they are not normal father..." "What?" "I said that they are not normal..." "Of course not: they are gods!" "Not in that way, they are evil father, their heart bathed and covered in the darkest of sins and atrocities. Even their mere presence emanates an aura of power and pain, their seidr is dangerous, cruel and devoid of warmth... they, they've done things that you wouldn't believe unless you were to witness them with your own eyes..."

"Such as?" his father asked, not fully sure of what he was meaning, "They..." he shivered, as if a cold gust of wind had suddenly enveloped him, "They reanimate the bodies of the fallen and slain, either to become draugr or berserkers... those corpses, that had once been full of life and emotions, they're... now they're simply empty shells of their former selves, who do nothing but obey the orders of the two queens." Brogr felt his gut clench, the food tha the had previously eaten now didn't taste as good as it had.

"It is a depravity... the way their cursed seidr corrupts and mutilates the bodies, it is an affront on the souls of those who have fallen, an insult to the families of such soldiers... and yet no one will speak a word against it, no one does anything, no one cares enough to do so..." "Brogr," his father started, coming to hold him steady and looking at him in the face, "What you are saying right now is treason; the words that you are uttering can and will be classified as heretical if they were to be heard... please, please be careful about this topic, you cannot go around talking about it to whoever you want... it will take very little for this news to spread... and once that is done, you know what will happen, do you?" 

The blacksmith sighed, "Yes father, I know. It is why I take so many precautions to make sure that the chances of me being heard are abysmally low. That is why I insisted on talking to you somewhere more private." the older man hugged the recruit, softly patting him on the back.

"Good, you must the careful Brogr, I mean it. Truly, I do." they separated, and the smith was unsure of what to say, but looking at the forge, he remembered of a plan that he had been thinking about.

"Father, there is something else that I wish to tell you." "Yes? What more is there to hear?" Gerril probably didn't mean to, but he sounded exhausted, and rightfully so: Brogr could not blame him for that, he too would be worried dearly if the same thing were to happen to him as well.

"Considering the large payment that is due to arrive soon, I have been thinking of using that golf." "For what Brogr?" "I wish to use iy to finally go and learn the teachings of the dwarves from Nidavellir." his father looked at him surprised, "Nidavellir? Are you sure about it?" and the young man nodded, "The dwarves are the best blacksmith in the entirety of the ten realms. The weapons they forge, they are the mightiest and most dangerous that there can possibly be, except for maybe the Twilight Sword." his father still seemed unsure, "You know of Gungnir, king Odin's spear right? The weapon of the Allfather, passed down from king to prince, from father to son." "Yes, I do, it contains the legendary force of Asgard's kings." "Then guess who created them." "Who?" "Ivaldi, the first dwarf king, the great builder, the one who created the forge around the dying star. It was passed as a venerable gift." 

"And not only that, the dwarves also created other magical artifacts forged with sedir, such as Draupnir, the golden arm ring, or of Skinbladnir, the fastest and best of boats, and other such treasures."  
"And you intend to learn from them." "Precisely father, that is what I wish to do. Granted, I will not have the possibility to have my own miniature star set up here in the forge, but the skills that I shall learn there will be worth it. And... I've decided to take on an apprenticeship, to guarantee the best possible lessons and teachings I. na possibly have."

Gerril seemed pensive. "We would have to discuss about this with lord Ulvkilsson, he still wants you to work at the forge, he might be displeased if you were to delay your work once more." Brogr breathed out, "He will recognize the advantage of my position, he would have to be a fool to not see the opportunities that I present. A trained blacksmith, one that has had an apprenticeship from the dwarves is extremely rare father, and it is not a coincidence that all of the best blacksmiths on Asgard have attended and studied on Nidavellir."

That seemed to convince him some more, "Very well then, this can work. But we have yet to address another fact;" Brogr knew this as well, he wished that he could simply avoid it, "The issue with the queens. If you leave now, it may be seen in the wrong light by the crown. They will think that you are trying to escape their judgement..." the smith sighed, "Yes, I have thought about that... it is a problem." then an idea came to him: "And if I were to delay my departure for a week?"

"Why?" "They must undoubtedly know where I live, given all of the ravens that hound around the city. If I were to wait for a week, and then leave, I would not have to worry repercussions. If I am not called to the royal palace, even after a week then it will be obvious that they do not wish to speak to me." his father leaned back on the chair, clearly deep in thought.

"If you do wait long enough, then yes, yes you are right; it will be seen as completely acceptable." he chuckled, "Seems as if we were overreacting a tad bit too much." 

"Alright then, what do we do now though? Or at least, what can I do now?" he asked, "Nothing, to be honest... you won't be able to use the forge, I will have to ask lord Ulvkilsson for permission, and he has already expressed his desire to remain undisturbed..." "I don't feel like going outside either. All of the celebrating and feasting would only grate on my nerves. Perhaps I could help the servants around?" "Would you want to?" "Why not? I am not working, so I better make myself useful then, it wouldn't be just if I were to simply do nothing all day as they sweat and tire themselves to earn their pay." 

Gerril shrugged, "Well, if that's what you want to do..." 

Not too later, he was helping the maids wash a frankly gargantuan amount of clothes and bedsheets. The women were thankful for his assistance, given especially that he could help carry the heavy loads of the instruments that they used. Still, that did not mean that he did not do his part of cleaning the laundry. It was at that point that Brogr had to ask one of them to show him to properly scrub the clothes, to which they were eager to do so.

"Grisnelda, how much lavender should I put in this shirt? Or do you think the roses would be better suited." "Pick whichever you prefer, it does not matter much." was her quick reply.

Of course, being the most inexperienced in the group , he was the slowest of them all, but they did not shun or mock him for it, given that he was still helping them, even if he didn't have to.  
"The entirety of the Empire is celebrating the victory over Surtur, and the birth of a new colony. You fought in the war, correct Brogr?" "Yes, what is your rank, tell us." another added, and the smith briefly stopped, before continuing.

"I did fight in the war, and to answer your question, I am a part of the cohort of the recruits." he replied, a little careful with his wording. Brogr still did not feel comfortable talking about what the recent events had caused him; and he wouldn't be for much more time, of that he was sure.

"To be honest, I genuinely thought that you were higher ranked, it is disappointing." a woman seated across from him spoke, but was quickly shunned by the others, "Please forgive her Brogr, Brengrar here has a knack for insulting people." "It is not a problem... you have not caused offense." he told her directly.

"What was the war like? Did you see general Hymir? Oh, what did captain Hrok look like? Was he as beautiful as the rumors say he is?" he wanted to roll his eyes, "I did not see them, our placement in the camp was towards the outer rim of it." "Then what was the fighting like? You must have slain many foes, given that you are missing a finger." Brogr subconsciously touched the stump on his hand, "I would rather not talk about it."

"Why not? There is no shame in carrying wounds. So how did you obtain such a particular scar? Was it a giant, maybe even a dragon?" he saw Beigarth once again and he closed his eyes, trying to think of something else.

The servants were still obvious to his growing anxiety, and so they kept asking him questions, unaware that they were aggravating his anger more.  
"But why will you not tell us?" "BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO!" he screamed out, shooting up to his feet and towering over the covering maid.

The others scrambled away with fearful gasps, not expecting him to react so volatility. Brogr breathed heavily, his chest raising and falling as he did, his eyes darted to the other occupants in the room, and he calmed down slightly, aware of his outburst.

The blacksmith swallowed thickly, "I apologize." he steeped towards the door. "Please excuse my anger." he added with a softer tone, walking past the wooden frame.

He cursed the Norns for his temper... he had acted rashly, and Brogr would definitely have to learn how to control his emotions; he could not have such reactions, especially in front of the nobility or someone else.

"Father?" "Yes Brogr?" "I feel unwell, I think I will go rest a little, if that isn't a problem." Gerril pushed him towards the stairs, "Of course not, sleep if you want to. Nobody will prevent you." "Thank you father."

He felt tired now, but he just wanted to sleep a little, and forget about Beigarth.

Even if only for a brief moment...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I know that in Norse mythology Ivaldi is the father of the rival dwarves of Brokkr and Eitri, but I’ve decided to simply use the name for convenience’s sake.


	14. The dwarves of Nidavellir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brogr finally does what he wants the most.

Asgard...

Four days had passed by the time that he had come up with the plan, and still, there were no signs of messengers or orders that demanded his presence. There was nothing but silence in those four days.

And it made Brogr nervous.  
He still could not tell what it was that the queens wanted from him, what they wanted to propose to him... of course, given his low status, and lack of any significant importance, they could have simply forgotten about him. He was one of untold millions after all.

But a part of the smith couldn't help but think that there was something sinister going on, something that he could not notice. The queens were known for their renowned ruthlessness and love of battle... this could all simply be a ploy, or something... maybe to let him lower his guard and go on with his treacherous ways? 

The lack of an answer was discomforting, for it gave birth to uncertainty, and with uncertainty anything was possible.  
"Anything yet Brogr?" his father asked as he entered the shop, removing his heavy fur pelt. Winter was approaching, and though they weren't nearly there, the cold definitely made itself known.

It seemed ironic in a way: upon the dawn of the subjugation of Muspelheim, the ice and frost would befall on Asgard... it was a poetic touch, seemingly given to them by the Norns.

That did nothing to stop the citizens from celebrating still: even if a week had passed since the victory over Surtur, the city still kept on drinking and feasting and singing. It was short of being ridiculous.

"No, at the moment no, nothing." he told his father. "Have you had any news or anything? None of the pages had nothing to tell you directly?" the sigh the older man gave out communicated his answer. "It seems almost useless now. If they did want to talk to you, they would have already called for your presence. It does not seem feasible anymore."

"We can never be too sure about it..." "Yes I know my son, but do you not think that perhaps, there is nothing more to this mystery?" Brogr turned to look at him, taking his blue eyes off from the view of the outside streets that the window provided him. 

"I do think that you are right. I just can't help but worry that something bad will occur... it unsettles me, deeply so." he told his father as they began to walk towards one of the dining rooms. 

"Nothing will happen Brogr. The worst has passed, and I am sure that we will hear no more of this proposition." they never mentioned the queens out loud, they only did in private. It was always a safety measure of theirs: it was all to easy to fall victim to the maniacal control set by the crown. 

The other day in fact, a nearby house was raided by the standing guard after receiving complaints of treachery and whatnot. The details of the accusations were not known: the populace liked to gossip and twist the reality of the facts so that they best suited their tastes; so there was no definite way to know what truly happened.

What was known, was that the accused, a middle aged man, was dragged out of his house still naked as he had been taking a bath at the time. When he wouldn't stop kicking his legs, an einherjar chopped them off with a couple of swings of a sword. The screams of agony were haunting, and yet the crowd that had gathered jeered and taunted the poor soul.  
They executed him on the spot, hanging him from and elaborate stone archway that was placed at the end of the street.  
The death of the accused did not deter the celebrations in the slightest, and only seemed to fuel them further. Some asgardians event went as far as to throw rocks and rotten vegetables at the still struggling man, who died shortly after his neck finally broke, putting him out of his misery.

It made Brogr sick, to see such barbaric actions be treated so normally, and it was a grim reminder of Asgard's brutality. 

Even the neighbors of the man were not safe, as they were lead to the nearest fort and interrogated thoroughly. The smith did not know what the einherjar had done, but upon returning he noticed that many of these people were missing limbs or eyes or ears; sometimes all of three. One even had his lips stitched shut.

And it had worried the smith dearly, but up until now, none of the guards had come barging into the building. It was a feeling that his father shared as well.  
"What about lord Ulvkilsson? Has he said anything about my plan to go learn at Nidavellir?" "Oh, about that, he did tell me that he would come visit the property later this afternoon." 

"Is that why all of the servants are cleaning and polishing the decorations? I did not know what to make of it when I first saw it." and Gerril nodded. Then, he pointed at Brogr's state of dress, "It goes without saying that you will have to change into more fashionable clothing. It simply wouldn't be seen as respectable to present yourself in such a manner." "Are there any of these clothes that I may wear?" "Yes, and I will tell Thangbrand to place the set on your bed. Another thing, do take a bath after lunch, we must look our best, least he be displeased." 

The blacksmith nodded, showing him that he understood. They settled down at the table, not to eat, but simply to talk some more. "Have you done anything of interesting this morning?" "I gave the library another investigation, but I was only capable of finding books on previous wars and conquest detailing our empire's long and powerful growth. The only other books present contain poetry and other flowery words. But you already know how I feel about those."

Gerril smirked, letting out a small chuckle, "Perhaps you should help the others then." he suggested, "Why not." Brogr finally decided himself. Hopefully the maids would be more self aware of the subjects that he did not wish to speak or talk about.

He would actually try to be around the others servants, and maybe he would try to follow Thangbrand's instructions... yes, that was probably the wisest thing to do at the moment.

"What about you father, do you have any new potential brides?" "Oh Norns no Brogr. I thought that you had enough of new women to which I was romantically interested." the smith leaned back a little, a playful smile etched on his lips. 

"Do not worry father, I would not mind if you were to marry once more... I realize that you want someone to love, and I respect it. Simply try to find a lady that isn't so much as a lying whore as that bitch Hlif was." "Of that you can rest assured: I won't make the same mistake again, I won't now that I'm over my grief." his father told him, rapping his knuckles against the wooden bark of the table.

"And you son? How are your dealings and middlings with the emotion of love? Have you found any young potential wives?" it was his turn to be on the defensive now, he realized that very well, "No. I do not have the necessary time, not that I had much to begin with, between everything that was going on with my training at the barracks, or the sudden war against Surtur and the constant fighting. It did not leave me the chance to even search for a woman that I could call my significant other." he informed him, "But I have thought about it, several times already if I were to be honest." he added a little more quietly, and more to himself than to his father.

"HA!" Gerril barked a laugh and reached towards his son to pat his shoulder, "The exuberance of youth. Norns do I miss it! You remind me of when I was your age, young, fully life and spirit, dreaming of beautiful women and beer. Though I am sad to admit that with age I've lost my drive, much as well in the bedroom." Brogr's cheeks exploded in a bright red, and directed his gaze elsewhere.

"Father?!" he whispered to him, "Does this seem like the time to talk about such things?!" he continued, still furiously whispering as embarrassment covered him whole, but that only caused the older asgardian to laugh louder.

"Why are you so flustered? We aren't even talking about you! And don't be that way, I know that you think such thoughts because so did I, and you are very much my son!" he exclaimed lightheartedly, "Maybe I take more after mother in this regard then." the smith shot back, only that it didn't have the intended effect that he so craved.

Gerril was wheezing for air as he held a hand to his belly, slightly keening over, "Your mother!" he started before having to stop to breath some fresh air into his empty lungs, then he continued: "Rannveig was the dominant one between us when it came to the bed, my drive seemed minimal compared to hers! She knew damn well how to please me, and Norns was she good! A true woman, not some backstabbing liar like that slut Hlif." Brogr wanted to die in that moment, he couldn't believe he was having this conversation with his father.

At least he had lowered his voice enough so that only he could hear him... these were definitely not things that they wanted the servants to know about.

"Father please, I do not need to hear of the way that the two of you created me, I trust the facts enough, please." Gerril still laughed some, "Alright, alright, I will stop, but there is no shame in hearing it." "For you maybe, but clearly not for me if you couldn't tell."

Just then, Thangbrand came inside the room, carrying a stack of porcelain white plates in his grasp. Gerril called him over after greeting him, "Yes, what may I do for you Gerril?" "Brogr here would like to help you, is there anything that he can do?" a noise was heard from the front entrance of the building. No one was supposed to come, so that could only mean that it was a messenger.  
"I shall leave you two to discuss your things, for I am needed elsewhere at the moment. Thangbrand, don't go too hard on him; he's still inexperienced." 

The taller man turned towards the smith, "I find myself in luck, for I wanted to ask you some advice." that surprised him, "What for?" he asked.

"Properly cleaning the forge. I know that it is an action that the servants have done many times, but I have no doubts that you know the proper way to do it." "Indeed I do, shall we go then?" "Please, allow me to accompany you."

They made their way down the steps and down the lower level and came to the smithy, "I will say this now, but you and the others have done a tremendous job in keeping it tidy." the head servant bowed his head at the compliment, "You have my thanks." "But I will not criticize you for missing a few things, for example here." he pointed to a section of the metal construct that wasn't easily viewable, he rubbed his fingers on it and showed him the accumulated dust that covered his skin. "That is generally a spot that is ignored, due to it not being very noticeable." 

"Or over there, on the back end of the conduct for the smoke, the ridges and lineaments are notoriously easy to get dirty." and he kept going on, showing all of the dirtiest and hardest places to clean, whilst Thangbrand eagerly listened to him with great interest as he took mental notes of such advice.

"Now, given that this smithy hasn't been used that much, the soot and ash present is abysmally low, but given continuous and repetitive use, it will become much harder to properly clean later on." "I trust that you will teach us how to clean it in that conditions as well, correct?" 

Brogr gave him a pat on the shoulder, "Oh don't worry about that, you won't have to do all of the work. One of the basic lessons of being a blacksmith is to always take good care of your instruments, for the better they are, the better the conditions of your workspace will be, thus negating the margin of errors and mistakes. But yes," he continued, looking around the room, "It would be nice to have a few helping hands, this smithy is gigantic!"

"And you will start soon correct?" Thangbrand asked him, turning a curios pair of brown eyes towards him, "Oh... about that," "You will need lord Ulvkilsson's permission, correct? And then you will have to ask him if you could set up an additional shop over here." "Well, not really, I plan to leave."

"Leave?" he was shocked, "Where? Is there going to be another war? So soon after the conquest of Muspelheim?" he calmed him down, "No Thangbrand, my leave is not related to battle or to fighting. I am going to Nidavellir." that made him understand.

"But why? I thought that you were already a proficient enough smith." "True, but I am self taught, all that I know has come from observation and personal experience. But I would earn much more prestige if I were to go train with the dwarves, for they are undoubtedly the best blacksmiths in the entirety of the empire and beyond."

"Hmm, that is a sound plan, so you will be back in a few months I reckon?" "You are wrong again, I will stay there two years to follow through with an apprenticeship; it will likely take me more time." he stuttered a little, surprise once more, "An apprenticeship? Brogr, do you know how much those cost? It would financially and economically cripple your father!"

The blacksmith smiled a little, for he was warmed by the worry that one of his few friends was giving him, "Do not worry, the bounty and riches that I have earned in the war will cover the high price, it won't take a lot of gold from my father to match the bargain. By doing this, I will have sure knowledge and the best lessons and teachers that I can have. I will learn how to think, craft and build like a dwarf."

"Well, I certainly do admire you for your drive Brogr. It is beautiful to watch such a young lad act so diligently and responsibly. Tis a shame that the same can't be said for the other youths." "Why thank you as well Thangbrand."

"Now, how about we polish this room so that the lord may be fully convinced then, are you going to help me?" "I eagerly will."

It was a few hours later that they were almost finished cleaning the forge that Brogr asked the older man a question. "Thangbrand, do you consider me to be a friend?" the other man stopped briefly to turn his attention towards him, "Do you consider me a friend?" he asked back, "I think so, you respect me, and you have always been available when I was in need of help or advice. You are older than me, it is true, but I do not think that it matters much."

"Well, to be honest I did not expect you to consider me that way, I am... flattered, really. But yes, I would enjoy to call you a friend as well." he resumed dusting the stone floor with the broom that he held in his hands.

"I am glad to hear that." replied Brogr as he continued to oil the scalpel in his hand so that it seemed to shine, and he passed the cloth over it so that his distorted reflection was easy visible if he looked at it intently. Wordlessly, he placed it back on the rack of tools. 

"Are you friends with the other servants." "No." he uttered, "Hmm, how come?" he suddenly asked him, and then realized how intrusive and personal the question might have seemed. Quickly, he began to apologize, "If you wish to tell me that is, I will not get offended if you do not wish to talk about it."

"There is no need to fret Brogr, it's simply that the others and I are not as close as the two of us are. We are simply colleagues. They see me as their point of guide, and I see them as my fellow workers. We share a bond that is more akin to that of mutual respect, but it goes no deeper than that." that satisfied his curiosities, "Well, have given thought to maybe approach some of them on the matter? I am sure that at least a couple would become fast friends with you, given how diligent and good you are at your tasks."

Thangbrand chuckled, "Aren't you a flatterer? Brogr, this is something that has to do with age also: I am at that point in my life where I do not really care about making new acquaintances. And maybe that's simply how I am, but at the moment I feel perfectly content with how things are." he explained, "That does not mean that I do not have many friends outside of this building though, you'd be surprised by the amount." "I reckon that they can't be that many." the blacksmith replied with a bit of sarcasm coupled with snark, "They are, and I'd wager my monthly pay that they are more than the hairs on your head." "Come on Thangbrand, do not inflate the numbers so much." Brogr scoffed in a friendly manner, earning himself a laugh, "You have no idea lad."

"And finished, are you done with the other tools?" "Almost, I have those two hammers over there and the short saw placed at the end of the line." Brogr informed him, indicating the objects with a tilt of his head before resuming his work on the scalpel.

"Here, let me help you so that we may go eat our meal and get ready." the other man said, picking up a cloth and one of the hammers. "Thank you, thank you dearly Thangbrand." "Don't worry about it. The sooner we are done, the sooner we may rest."

The blacksmith chuckled some more, and in no time they were done, and were soon heading upstairs. "It is past lunch time, yes?" "Aye, it is, we ought to hurry up then, I have to prepare myself." the two moved a little quicker than before.

They came up to the front of the shop, right as Gerril was finishing his talk with a young page boy. He seemed a little troubled if the look on his face was anything to go by. "Ah, Thangbrand, Brogr, good to see you, I was just about to go call for you both." he stated as he turned around and spotted him.

"What is going on father? Is there something that is ailing you?" he strode forward, hand outstretched so that he could catch his son by the shoulder, intent on bringing him somewhere. For a moment, Brogr was afraid, afraid that the queens had remembered about him and the familiar anxiousness returned once more to him.

"I have word that lord Ulvkilsson is coming earlier than expected, I am sorry to say this but I fear that you will have to skip on your lunch. Come, you have yet to bathe and dress, there isn't much time left." he sighed in relief a little, grateful that it was something less nerve wracking than what he had imagined.

"Do you know why the lord is coming so soon, without warning?" Gerril chuckled a little, "I think it is to surprise us and see if we really are working diligently. Luckily, I have a separate page who keeps me up to date with this kind of information, I will have to tip him a good reward for his good efforts, it was a wise idea to assume him." he showed him to his bedroom, which coincidentally also had a bathroom, "Here, shower quickly and dress up, the servants will then add the finishing touches on the room and you will come back down." his eyes briefly scanned the room as he began to undress, "Where is my clothing?" "It will be placed on the bed as you clean yourself." his father curtly replied, already moving towards the door.

Brogr wordlessly entered the tub that ha dal ready been filled and scrubbed at his skin, quickly going over the repetitive movements as his entire body was lathered in water and soap. He even cleaned the two scars, though they proved to be just as irritating and discomforting as always, bordering on pain as he tried to be gentle with the areas. Still, he finished and got out of the bath; droplets of water falling from him and onto the fur okey placed on the floor.

Quickly, he dried himself up and stepped out of the room, grabbing the clothes that had been placed on his bed. Brogr put his small clothes on, followed by the shirt and the pants. They were made to a material akin to that of silk, though not as precious or rich. The softness of it unsettled him some, so he tried to push against his feelings and power through it. 

Once the young man was done with tying up his shoes, he exited the room, holding the door open as a group of maids scurried in carrying cleaning equipment. 

Brogr went downstairs as to stand next to his father close to the entrance. Nearly the entire household was here with the exception of the maids who were tidying his room. They stood silent, and Brogr leaned in to speak to Gerril. "How do I look?" "Good." he answered as he briefly looked him over from head to toe, "Yes, this will do." he gazed back to the streets, it was a question of moments now.

"My son, remember your manners, keep your back straight, voice leveled and steady, and when you are addressed look at the lord in the eye as you converse with him. A fearless attitude will be your best ally in this occasion." then, he was interrupted as a noticeable procession cut through the thick of the crowd that was dancing and celebrating.

A group of guards were guarding a man seated on a black stallion, looking very much like a warrior given his musculature and dressed in fine robes to indicate his aristocratic and noble origins. Behind him, a younger man, probably his son given the close similarity, trotted forward on his own horse. And behind him was a massive carriage that was pulled by over a dozen of horses. The lavish decorations of it spoke volumes to demonstrates the lord's power and wealth. Brogr felt a trickle of sweat form at the back of his ear. He fought the urge to wipe it off.

Lord Ulvkilsson stopped in front of the shop, and got off his horse, hading the reigns of the animal to a nearby guard who was waiting to do just that. The younger asgardian noble did the same thing. The smith couldn't see the figure that had gotten out from the carriage, for it was too far away for him to make out, but he could tell that it was a woman.

The door was opened for the large man and everyone in the room bowed their heads, Brogr followed suit, waiting until given permission to rise. 

Tosti Ulvkilsson stopped a little before Gerril and ordered him to get up, his voice possibly holding the deepest baritone tone he had ever heard. "My lord." the shorter man stated respectfully, giving him another bow. The lord looked around the entrance of the building, his green eyes holding a critical edge on them as he scanned for every nook and cranny. He did not comment, nor did he compliment, but at least he seemed to be relatively please at the moment. That was good.

"The shop looks to be in good conditions." he finally relented and Brogr could nearly hear the collective sigh of relief that emanated from the other members. The tension of the situation lowered drastically.  
"I am curious to see the accounts and balances though. I trust that they are all in order, correct?" "Yes my lord, please if you will follow me I will show you to them immediately." Gerril stated as he turned around and began to walk to another room.

Before leaving, Ulvkilsson looked at the smith, "You are?" "Brogr my lord. I am Gerril's son." the noble looked at him a little, and the smith had the impression that he wanted to ask him something.

Instead, he merely traced on his father's footsteps, "Come, I wish to speak to you later." was his order and Brogr did as he was told, replying: "Yes my lord, as you command." 

Thangbrand gave him a reassuring nod as he passed by him. He could hear a few more people enter the room behind him; the guards no doubt, along with the young man and the unknown person from the carriage.

Silently, he stood behind the large man as his father unlocked the closed gateway of a large, iron door, decorated with segmented steel shards so that the door resembled a great tree when closed, with five circular spheres placed at various points on both side of the double entryway. It was obviously a representation of Yggdrasil and the ten realms that were nestled amongst its branches. The realms under the control of the empire were in pure gold, while Asgard itself was instead comprised by numerous rubies, emeralds and diamonds. 

"The sphere of Muspelheim will have to be reworked." Tosti noted with interest, "It shall be done my lord." "Good." 

The room was large, and Brogr knew immediately that this was the treasury of the building. He was almost certain that the numerous stone drawers contained pounds upon pounds of gold and jewels. But it was the segmented collection of steel cases that were built into the wall in front of him that caught his eye.

Gerril approached one of the central cases to the left, and he unlocked it with a key. These cases conti see all of the records and all of the messages and letters that ha been delivered to this particular establishment. The contracts of deals and oaths were also placed here.

Given that the building was built in a relay recent time, there banks were nearly half full. His father easily slid out the case and extracted a dusty tome, briefly blowing on it to clear the dirt and opening it up to the most recent date, to which all of the dealings were meticulously noted and written.

Lord Ulvkilsson began to read from them, asking Gerril to turn the pages ever so often as he analyzed the reports that were from older times. "Everything is in order and maintained well. You have done well Gerril, I knew that I had picked the right man for this job." his father nodded his head, "You honor me my lord." he appeared humble on a purpose but did not try to flatter or stoke the lord's pride for he knew that Ulvkilsson hated pretenders and arselicking vipers with a fiery passion, much preferring honesty and pragmatism over them.

"Now that it is done. I wanted to discuss the situation with your son." Brogr crossed his arms behind him, holding his hands together as the noble asgardian looked at him once more, his attention focused squarely on him.

"You are a blacksmith correct?" "Yes my lord." "You have seen the forge. Is it adequate?" "Very much my lord, so much so that I believe that I will need to hire a couple of helpers due to the sheer size and complexity of it." he answered honestly.

"Your father here once approached me with the idea to promote your work and let you commission weapons, while also doing it so that this property of mine receive more recognition. And I believe that such a thing is very well possible. But now I hear that you are delaying your work, and instead want to travel. Why is it that you haven't started yet?"

Brogr clenched his jaw briefly to let go of some of his anxiety and began to speak, "I plan to leave for Nidavellir my lord. I am interested in learning from the dwarves, and I intend to do so with an apprenticeship." "Hmm... that is an interesting proposition, you are a bit old for an apprenticeship though." "I know that well my lord, but it does not mean that I will not be capable." 

"But doing so would cost quite a large sum of gold. And I am not sure if I want to bet my chances." "There is no need for that my lord, I already have the necessary requirements to meet the price." that surprised him some, "How so?" and the smith spoke a little more carefully, "I fought in the war in Muspelheim my lord. My cohort was responsible for delaying the fire giant Surtur long enough so that the rest of the legions could properly prepare a counter attack."

"Ah yes, while feasting in the halls of the Allfather, your group was the subject to much talk and praise. You have done well lad." the lord now seemed to view him in a much more positive light; Brogr didn't know how to feel about it though.

"My lord, I am aware that I will delay my work by a couple of years, but I assure you that the benefits from learning with an apprenticeship will be all the more worth in the long run." the taller man stopped him with a hand, indicating him to remain silent, "I know very well what the advantages of such a deal could be. You need not to speak any more of it, I am fully convinced now; you will leave tomorrow, yes?" 

The blacksmith nearly stuttered, "In three days, actually, but I don't see why I can't leave earlier like you have proposed." Brogr agreed with him, a little unsure since this did make his mind wander back to a certain mystery involving a pair of very influential women. 

The lord chuckled, and the two were shocked at the complete turn of his attitude: less than a minute ago, he was serious and humorless, yet now he was treating Brogr like an old friend, "I am sure that you will learn well under the skillful watch of the dwarves. And by the time that you come back, I expect you to be the best not only in this district but in the entirety of the city!" 

"Do that, and we could also talk about possibly opening a few more shops, maybe even a private one, so that you may found your own household name." this was unexpected, it really was. Brogr was having a hard time comprehending and coming to terms with it all.

"I... thank you" "Oh, do not thank me lad. You have done Asgard a great deal of honor, and you will be justly recompensed for your sacrifices." he chuckled some more before sighing a little. "It is a shame though: I wish my own son was half as diligent as you." he turned towards his father, "You have a good, true lad here Gerril, let me tell you that, you should be proud of him." 

"My lord, surely I could never be compared to your- "That swine that I am forced to call my own flesh and blood can barely hold a sword straight, heh, sometimes I think that a simple gust of wind will knock him over given how thin he is." the man from the front of the shop was very tall and nowhere near lanky. But lord Ulvkilsson himself was a giant in that regard.

"Norns, I do wish I could toast to a son like you young Brogr. And yet he does nothing but prance around, believing that he is superior to anyone and everyone simply because of his upbringing. Speaks of how courageous he is but then runs to hide in his mother's skirts as soon as the first signs of danger emerge. And now the woman that he's chosen as his bride will simply ruin him further. But you've slain many fire demons right? It must have been glorious to butcher them with your... what did you use? A war hammer? A lance?" "An axe my lord." "An axe! Powerful indeed." he sent Gerril a look of agreement and he nodded his head, for he too was unsure of what to make of this situation.

"Well then, I am thoroughly pleased with how you have handled this residence Gerril, it is fantastic, truly. Shall we head back up?" he did not even need to ask for such things, he could simply do as he pleased. "Please my lord, go ahead, I will lock the room." 

"Brogr, follow me. Maybe that craven that I call a son will finally learn to become a better warrior once he sees what a fine lad you are." lord Ulvkilsson stated, already walking away from the room.

Brogr followed after him, "But between the two of us, I can see that you have a good heart lad. You have a passion for forging and I respect the passion that you hold for it. Perhaps we out to spar one time?" he immediately went to try and politely refuse his offer, "I could never compare to your skills in fighting my lord." "You are giving me too much credit Brogr, I believe that you are an excellent warrior, even whilst still being a recruit. How else would you have been able to hold back Surtur's army?" he passed out. That's how he survived.

In truth, Brogr was still reeling from what the lord had told him. "Now I just remembered, and I am telling you this as a warning, be prepared to face my son's bride, she is unbearably insufferable. Buri's hair, she can't even ride a horse without help!" he exclaimed, clearly more frustrated than him, "My lord, forgive me for speaking of matters that are above my station, but could you not simply send her away? Do you not have the capability of doing that?"

The older asgardian sighed: "If only it could be that simple, you see Brogr, it would be seen as an offense on my nobility, it would reflect badly on my reputation first and foremost. But rest assured that I will wait for the occasion. As soon as she does something even remotely shameful, I will have her sent out from under my roof and into the streets. And this leech will make a mistake, I know that she will." 

It seemed as if the lord hated his daughter in law. And with a burning passion too. Soon, they made it to entrance, where the guards visibly relaxed at seeing their lord again. They had probably felt nervous in leaving him alone, even if it was under his request. 

Brogr's ears heard a grating voice, that was oddly familiar. Turning his attention to the woman in front of him who was berating a few poor servants, Brogr wonders if the Norns truly hated him so much.

For the bride of lord Ulvkilsson was none other than Hlif Borgadottir. 

The blacksmith already wanted to tear his hair out from the top of his scalp, but refrained from doing so by keeping his hands firmly placed behind his back as they had been for the last few minutes.

When the woman noticed him, she stopped, for she quickly recognized him. Brogr had to resist the urge to simply give her a teasing smirk, knowing that it would set her off. She already looked very surprised to see him.

"Hlif." he addressed her, only with her name and not using any titles. But it seemed as if her new husband to be was already trapped on the cruel spell that she had cast over him.

"You have no right to address her that way commoner!" the young man, barely his own age surged forward to come and stand in front of him in threatening manner.

"Alrik, I swear to the Allfather that if you continue with this ridiculous parade then I shall start treating you like a jester. Do not take your frustrations out on young Brogr here; besides, he is in the right, your woman is of low birth." Ulvkilsson stated, clearly not in the mood for such clownery.

Alrik stuttered, mouth agape like a fish out of water, stunned at what his father had said. "You can't, you can't possibly allow this. He is a commoner! No better than dirt!" "And yet he holds more value than you ever will. Tell me now, son," he muttered the word son as if it were pure poison, "were you the one to fight in the recent conquest?" silence was the young lord's answer, "I thought as much. Until you are able to properly do battle, you will hold your tongue least I order one of the guards cut it out. Then I will not have to hear your pitiful excuses and pleas..." he echoed darkly.

Brogr was feeling sick; he kept seeing Beigarth's corpse again... he was being constantly reminded of Muspelheim, and he did not like it one bit. 

And it shocked him to see how bad the lord and his son's relationship was.  
It was then that the noble noticed that Hlif was still staring daggers at Brogr, so he turned towards him: "Do you happen to known the woman over here?" he asked with a cock of his head.

The blacksmith nodded, "Yes. She was my father's bride until they left each other a little over a month ago." the bitch looked at him as if she was about to die, and Ulvkilsson pinned her with a harsh glare.

"Alrik, you said that the two of you had been together for several months. And yet here I learn that this whore has been prostituting herself to elevate her status. You have disappointed me greatly Alrik." the lord continued, walking closer to her and the difference in size was made all the more apparent.

"My lord, I have finished- Gerril had just walked into the room, and his eyes magnetically locked onto Hlif. "It is good that you are here Gerril. Would you mind answering a question of mine?" "Yes my lord." his father said as the lord did not turn around.

"Do you know this woman? Have you had any interactions with her?" Hlif was looking at Gerril with a pleading face, silently begging him to help her. She was pale, and her body was also shaking slightly. But she would not receive mercy: "I do, in fact, know her my lord. She used to be my own bride." 

"And why is it that you are not a married couple?" "I left her because I learned that she is a heartless bitch who will do anything to satisfy her selfish and vain desires." not a sound was heard after that declaration. 

"Tell me, whore, who do you think you are to do as you please?" she was trembling fully now, tears welling up in her eyes, "My lord please," she hiccuped, "please, I did not mean to- "But you did mean it. All of it. I ask you again, who do you think you are? A noble? Is that supposed to be a jest?" he laughed in a fake manner, it was evident that he was brimming with rage.

He turned to look at one of the servants who visibly shrunk under his gaze, "You." he said, "get me a large wooden sign and some rope to tie it." he ordered before turning to Thangbrand, "Grab me some black paint." he bowed his head and went to one of his rooms.

"Girl, you are no longer to be my son's bride." "My lord please, please- "I should have your head mounted on a spike for this offense, and yet I am giving you mercy instead." "Father that is enough!" Alrik came to him but was caught of guard went lord Ulvkilsson grabbed him by the front of his clothes and punched him in the face. The younger man fell down with a cry, bright red blood pouring from his mouth. His front two teeth were missing, and they could be seen lying on the floor.

"I have had enough of your attitude. You better behave and listen from now on or I swear on all of Asgard's gold that I will disown you and name your sister my heir." he barked at him and Alrik didn't fight back.

The two servants came back with what he had asked, and so the lord began to write something on the sign in big letters. "Guards, undress her." a couple of mean surged forward and grabbed Hlif. She shrieked and cried as they tore her dress off her body, leaving her completely nude.

The rope was then placed around her neck, so that the sign dangled in front of her body. The word 'whore' was written upon it.

"I will let Asgard know of your vixen and nefarious ways." he instructed one of the guards, "I want you to make her walk though the entirety of the city. Leave not one district untouched. Once that is done, have her thrown into the dungeons of the nearest fort." 

Hlif was pushed out of the building and into the streets, where the celebrating stopped as all turned to stare at the naked woman. She was harshly shoved forward by one of the guards that was accompanying her, and she nearly fell to the stone pavement.  
Soon, insults and jeers were hurled in her direction as a an angry mob began to form around her, following her every step.

Lord Ulvkilsson watched all of it with cold satisfaction, up until the bitch wasn't visible anymore. "That concludes my investigation. Once again, I praise you Gerril, for your good work. Brogr," he looked at the blacksmith, "You shall leave on the morrow. I will have the necessary accommodations for your trip prepared in due time." and with that, he too left, mounting on his horse and trotting to somewhere else, Alrik meekly following behind him, still holding his bleeding mouth.

Everyone stood still for a few moments, before Gerril stepped in the center of the room, "Well done to you all." he complimented them, and chatter began once more. 

Truth to be told, both father and son were astonished at what had occurred, and they quickly went down to the forge, locking the door after instructing the other servants to not disturb them unless absolutely necessary. 

"This... what about this now then?" Brogr asked, still unsure at what had just happened. "Change my son. Change and a lot of it. But for the most part it seems as if our initial plans haven't changed much, if anything, we are better off now than before in comparison." the smith nodded.

"Lord Ulvkilsson said that I was to leave tomorrow, and he implied that I would not take the Bifrost to get to Nidavellir." his father came to stand next to him, grasping him by the shoulders, "It will take longer yes, but at least it is guaranteed that you will get there. And the lord most definitely agrees with your plan."

The lad still couldn't shake off this feeling that kept nagging at him, "What about, what about the queens?" Gerril sighed, closing his eyes, "Brogr," he began, "I think that it is all but confirmed that they want nothing to do with you at this point. There is no need to fret anymore." 

He could notice that his father was slightly enthusiastic at the prospect of witnessing that bitch getting what she so rightfully deserved, and it was temporarily blinding him from viewing things on another scale. But Brogr simply prayed to the Norns that his fears were all for nought; hopefully things would go well.

"Then I presume that it is best that I start to prepare for my leave?" "Of course. Come, I will help you."

The next day...

The blacksmith was currently seated on a simple bench, waiting for his ride to arrive. He tuned out the noises from the port that was facing the lake of Asgard to where it inevitably fell off into the void of the Ginnungagap, lost for an eternity. He shivered slightly at the memory of reading a few passages that detailed the tragedies of such incidents, and then to the funerals of the members of the royal family. 

Still... he was still cursed with the horrors of the war. Sometimes Brogr could hear the screams and see the images, sometimes he would see Beigarth instead, and sometimes he would see them both together. It did not matter if they were loud or nearly quiet, they were still there. His torment would never cease.

So instead, he tried to focus on some of his good memories: the most recent one being the happy dinner and farewell that his father had given him. Now it was his time to begin carving out his future and destiny; his very own life. And the thought of it excited him some.  
There was some anxiety, yes, but who didn't experience it at the prospect of beginning something new? 

Finally, an elaborate looking skiff soon settled down on the ground, its engines blowing the very first snowflakes away. It was clearly built with luxury and comfort in mind, not battle. It was also particular in design, given that it was slightly larger and presented a roof that fully enclosed the deck of it, sealing the interior off from the outside world.

A hatch opened to the side, and a man stepped out, staring directly at him, "Brogr Gerrilsson?" he asked.  
"Yes, that is me." the young asgardian got up and picked his bags from off the floor, moving to the ship.

The man, who he assumed was a servant, did not ask him questions, and began to silently load his things in a compartment. "Please enter." he invited him.

The inside of the ship was a little small, but luckily he was slightly shorter than the average, so he did not have to bend his head that much. That did not take away from the coziness of the interior tough: the seats were thoroughly padded and looked comfortable, which they were as he soon discovered by sitting down.

The servant opened a small window to the front of the box shaped room, telling something to another individual: the pilot by the looks of him. Finally, Brogr felt the ship hum and pitch forward, indicating that they were officially leaving.

If all went well, a little over three years would pass before he would finish his apprenticeship, but in the meantime, he would instead settle on resting a little, something that indulged some time later.

It was past a few hours of traveling that they did arrive. Brogr was temporarily blinded as he got out of the modified skiff, and had to cover his eyes. There was, in fact, a star not too distant from them, its warmth being detectable even from where he was.

When he managed to adjust to the setting, Brogr carefully lowered his arm, squinting a little still as the realm came into focus.

The blacksmith had imagined as to what Nidavellir would look like, but nothing could have ever prepared him for what he was seeing.  
His breath came short, as his pupils widened in astonishment at what he was seeing: Nidavellir in all of its beauty.

A set of four, massive rings slowly moved around the epicenter of the neutron star, their titanic frames seemingly rotating with complete fluidity. And all around him uru metal was present, lining the walls themselves as well as the rest of the building. 

But his attention quickly focused on the chambered star at the center of the entire moving fortress. He could see the eye of the forge opening, and a wave of pure energy shooting through the opening that it had created, to go power the actual forges.

The sheer size and complexity of the machine left Brogr speechless: it was a marvel of technology, not even the Bifrost could compare to what was at display here, not even one bit.

The servant came out and snapped him out of his star eyed gaze, "Sir, we have arrived, and please close your mouth, it is considered rude." he told him condescendingly, which would have annoyed him had this been another time, but right now he was thoroughly invested in observing everything that he could lay his eyes on. 

It, it still blew him away, the seamless perfection with which the dwarves craftsmanship managed to harness and control the power of a star. Even from where he was, he could feel the power of the celestial object thrum from under his feet. The entire forge was bathed in its energy, almost giving it the impression of being a real, gargantuan creature.

From the distance, he could spot a few titanic figures making their way towards the skiff. Even though they were called dwarves, it was the asgardians who were the small ones: the size of these smiths was nearly four times his own height, they absolutely massive compared to them. 

All of them were wearing worn tunics that were blackened after repetitive use, but he could still see the way that their muscles rippled with every movement, a clear indication to the years of dedication spent in mastering the art of forging. 

Once they were in front of them, they stopped, and the first one spoke, holding a deep and gruff voice: "Greetings asgardians. To what do we own this visit." Brogr nodded his head to them. He was frankly awed by their own realm and their ways of life, so he could not help but feel impressed, so he nodded his head as a show of respect and reverence, "Thank you for accepting us, master blacksmiths. These two men here have accompanied me here, I wish to learn from your teachings." he explained.

The dwarf to the left spoke next, "You are here to study then? Very well, we shall lead you to the section that houses other of your fellow asgardians." but the young man interrupted them, "You misunderstood me sir, for I haven't fully expressed myself, I wish to learn through and apprenticeship." that piqued their curiosity, as they stared back at him, looking at him far more critically than before.

"That will cost you much asgardian. I hope that your pockets are deep, for the price that we ask is not one that is easily- he stopped mid sentence as the servant dragged forward a heavy sack, which contained an obscene amount of gold.  
The leader of the three cracked a grin, "You are a feisty little one, aren't ya?" he picked the bag up as it weighed nothing, further demonstrating the difference between their two races.

"Will that the enough?" the dwarves laughed thunderously, the sound so loud that it nearly made Brogr piss his pants, "Will that be enough? Will that be enough! Boy, you have yourself a deal! Come, follow us king Eitri will most definitely want to hear from this one!" the giant barked as he began to walk away.

Brogr thanked the other two men as they left and quickly caught up to the three dwarves, forcing him to run to keep up with their pace, which was much quicker than his, due to their size.

Still, that did not stop him from watching all of Nidavellir's inhabitants, seeing the way that they went on with their daily lives, and the works of art that they created. The spectrum went from traditional forging with a hammer and smithy, to the application of dwarves runes blessed with a touch of seidr. And what a sight it was to behold: Brogr felt as if he was going to explode with wonder, it was as if he was a boy once more, and had been gifted a kingdom's worth of candy. 

The three men noticed the amazed look present on his face, and they chuckled amongst themselves, their great, bushy beards swaying left and right as they did. Not many dwarves payed attention to him, which would indicate that the presence of asgardians was not an uncommon occurrence. "Do you like what you see lad?" "Very much so, sir. I am amazed by the contraptions and mechanisms of this entire structure, it is impressive and most importantly humbling." 

"You nurture a love for blacksmithing eh?" one of them asked with a knowing tone. Their friendly demeanor him feel welcomed and relaxed, prompting him to be more open than what he usually was, "I do, it as has always been my dream to learn from the legendary dwarfs of the equally legendary Nidavellir, and all that I have seen has been leagues above what I thought was conceivable." he spoke with such honesty and passion, that the dwarfs felt touched by his words.

"I'll tell you what lad: if I am assigned as your overseer, than you can count on me to teach you all of the niftiest tricks. Then you can go impress all of the ladies back in the golden city!" Brogr blushed a little, red tinting his bearded cheeks, these blacksmiths were really straightforward with their talk.

A short period of time later, Brogr was brought into the king's holdfast, which was simply another section of the ring they were traveling on, the only difference was that the castle was burrowed deep inside the hull of it.

For the residence of a monarch, the hall was noticeably bare, and this seemed to be a recurring trend among the dwarven lifestyle: the simplistic designs optimized for functionality over awe. But still, Brogr was very much impressed with the composition of it all. 

King Eitri wasn't dressed with eloquent clothes or fancy capes, no, he was wearing a tunic not to dissimilar to the ones of the dwarves that had accompanied him. In fact, hadn't it been for him standing in front of the tall uru throne, Brogr wouldn't have realized who he was.

His lineaments were made of hard angles, his face was coated in soot, and his hair was wild and unkept. And judging by his dirty appearance, he was mostly likely forging something not too long ago. To be honest, every waking moment that the asgardians was spending here on Nidavellir did nothing but further elevate his need to get his hands on something and to start tinkering. There were so many instruments and objects that he didn't know about, it was all foreign equipment for him, and he ached to use it.

Eitri looked at him, eyes unreadable: "You come to us, Brogr son of Gerril, to learn the ways of smithing, is that correct?" he bowed low, "Very much so, your grace, if you will have me, I will eagerly worship whatever shrewd of knowledge that you will utter from your lips." 

The dwarf that was holding his bag which contained the gold stepped forward and gave it to his king. "You intend to have an apprenticeship, good. It goes without saying, that should you disobey our commands, or do anything that might endanger the lives of the three hundred dwarfs that inhabit this forge, then you will be sent away and back to Asgard. Do you understand that?" he asked with clarity, wanting to give himself an idea of the type of person that Brogr was. "I understand your grace."

"Good. And since you are here, stop calling me 'your grace', I am not the Allfather, nor his warrior queens." Eitri still spoke with a reserved tone, but this time it was lighter.

A dwarf that was behind him came forward so that he stood next to the king, "My brother Brokkr will oversee your progress and act as your teacher. As a note of advice, do be mindful of his brooding, I fear that whatever he's staring at will break and crumble away to dust under his gaze." this generated a few laughs from the dwarves that are in the hall and that had decided to stay to learn about this asgardian's intentions.

Naturally, Brokkr was the only one who didn't participate in the chuckling, for it was he who was the butt of the joke.  
"Come with me Brogr, I will show you to your quarters." the dwarf stated as he began to trudge down the steps of the throne, his boots creating noticeable thuds.

"Brokkr, may I ask you a question." he had come to quickly realize that king's brother was a man of few words, in fact, such was his response: "Speak." "How are the rings that surround the star capable of turning? Is it due to the use of an axle?" Brokkr hummed, "It is because of an axle." "Do other dwarfs work and live in them? And if they do, then how did you make it so that they don't fall into the void of space?" "They only work there, as far for living, they live here on the main ring." "Does anything else happen on those rings?" "No." "Are the dwarves who specialize in the usage of runes and seidr divided into areas akin to districts?" "Yes." Are there other asgardians presently here other than me?" "Yes." "Are they apprentices?" "Some." 

Brokkr really did use few words, it was true. And the way with which he always seemed to stare at a singular spot while walking was a little concerning, as his continuous brooding.

"Here are your quarters. Place your bags and follow me; I wish to learn of your skills." "As you say, give me but a moment of time and I will be ready."

They were soon in a fairly large room, by dwarven standards of course, and what immediately caught his attention was the presence of a forge, several whetstones and a myriad of hammers, bars and a several set of cylinders, which were categorized under their metal composition.

Brokkr pointed at one of these cylinders, and the asgardian picked it up, "Make a short sword out of that." so he wanted to see how skilled he was. They were finally starting up again.

Brogr hadn't touched the forge for the better part of two years, and he hoped that he hadn't gotten rusty. But now was not the time for such doubts, so he started the fire and applied the necessary ointments on the inside of the smithy's chamber. Once the forge was colored a bright hot orange, Brogr inserted the cylinder, so that the steel would start to melt, allowing him to later form its body.

In the meantime, he selected a few hammers after evaluating them, choosing those that would be the most helpful.

An hour later, Brogr had managed to forge the basic shape of the short sword, and was pleased with his results, but it was his master that would deem the quality of his work.  
Brokkr didn't utter a word as he passed his inquisitive eyes over the crude weapon. The young man couldn't tell what his judgment was, but kept his nerves at bay.

"You have an excellent understanding of the basic skills and rules, coupled with a good understanding of the medium ones as well. But there is still much to improve." he broke the sword in half with his bare hands and handed Brogr one of the two pieces.

"Turn this into a dagger and forge a replica of it with the scraps of the metal that you didn't use." this would be significantly harder, and to be completely true to himself, Brogr had never attempted such a thing. But if he was to be one of the best blacksmiths in Asgard, then he would also have to be one of the best apprentices in Nidavellir.

When he was finally capable of resting, he did so lightheartedly. He could feel a painful ache in his arms, and resisted the urge to groan at every movement that he made. They were very sore indeed.  
His back too ached some, and it felt as if someone was pushing against his lungs, somehow limiting his breath. But Brogr was happy. He was happy to finally do what he loved to do the most. 

This was nice. The dwarves of Nidavellir were nice. They did not care much for fighting, they cared for forging and working. So unlike the smaller asgardians; one would think that these behemoths would be the best of warriors, instead, they sought not the advantages of war, if only for the sake of their survival.

The young man sighed through his nose. Brokkr was a strict teacher, that was the impression that he had formed about him. But he was also just and patient. It would also seem that king Eitri was not bluffing earlier: his master looked as if he were contemplating his own existence, such was his melancholy. Brogr was not one to judge character, so he did not really care for how his teacher chose to express himself. Maybe that was his personality, as simple as that.

He had not yet bathed, and had he been back with his father, he would have probably been forced to clean himself. Gerril hated the smell of burnt and metal.

But the dwarves here didn't bat an eye, nor did they wrinkle their large noses. And they were joyous... all of them were joyous. This seemed as if it was another reality altogether; a reality were there were no needless conquests fought in the cursed lands of fire giants... a reality where one could live under the protection of a good, wise ruler and not the warmongering and bloodthirsty of a crazed god. It would all have been nice... had it been real.

And Beigarth was in front of him once more, always looking at him with betrayal in his large, scared brown orbs, still asking him for justification, for clarity of his actions.  
The wet feeling on his cheek made him raise his hand to the side of his face. He pulled away his index finger to realize that a tear had stained his skin. Coughing a little from the unexpected tightness in his throat, the smith rubbed his eyes and properly settled himself under the heavy sheets of the bed that was far too big for his size. Tomorrow would be another day...

"Today you will learn how to perfectly forge straight blades." that was what Brokkr had told him when he came to wake him from his slumber.

And after a few hours of patiently and attentively observing, Brogr had fed his mind with all that the master craftsman showed him. In the time since that, Brokkr had told him that it was his turn to try out the forging. The advice and methods used by the dwarves were innovative compared to what he personally knew about the art. They had invented techniques that were revolutionary, and complete changed his perspective on what he thought he knew.

But by the end, of the session, through trial and error, he had learned new skills. And he could tell that his work had improved noticeably as a result. 

"Are you self taught?" the dwarf suddenly asked him as he looked over his shoulder (or rather, over his entire figure) as he invested his efforts in striking the scalding hot iron into a flat shape.  
"Yes. I learned from watching the blacksmiths that worked in the open." "Do you come from Svartalheim?" that caught him off guard: "How did you- "Your manner of movement is similar to ours." of course. Svartalheim was the realm nearest to Nidavellir.

It was once theorized that the dwarves lived there before the dark elves came and eventually drove them out. Brogr was sure that there were many battles and conflicts to back and demonstrate this theory.

As a side effect of the closeness, the blacksmiths of the colonized realm essentially borrowed many styles and teachings from the dwarves. Their manner of smithing was the closest to that of Nidavellir's inhabitants.

It made sense now, it did, "I understand." "Good." but this also arose a small suspicion in him. He would ask him later though, because he was still focusing at the task currently present.

When the construct had been quenched and polished, Brokkr picked it up and vigorously analyzed it. Brogr still couldn't tell what was going on inside that big head of his, so he was kept wondering.

Finally, the dwarf nodded, "You learn fast." he acknowledged his efforts with a compliment. Brogr did not stop the smile that came to his face, "I have a fantastic teacher." but the other didn't reply.

It was then that he felt a scalding sensation over his front and side. He looked down to his tunic to see if he had somehow got himself burned while working near the bellowing flames.  
There was nothing but some grime on his thick leather apron. It dawned on him then that this was due to the scars. He had been an idiot, he did not bathe and clean the irritated wounds and now he was paying the consequences for acting so foolishly.

"Brokkr, are we done for today?" "Yes." "May I leave? I have an issue that requires immediate attention." the dwarf looked at him with that damn, brooding face of his. "Go." "Thank you."

Brogr nearly sprinted out of the room, but chastised himself for it. He walked with a fast pace, for it was important to keep a modest appearance. The healer that had been with him when he had woken up was right: he did have to clean the scars. Norns, he ha been such a fool...

After about half an hour of traversing through the large, towering and winding corridors and halls of metal, the young blacksmith finally arrived at his quarters.

He quickly entered and began to undress. Then, he grabbed a few towels and bandages that his father had provided him with, and went to the bathing room. Naturally, the tub in front of him was far too large for his size, but luckily, the dwarves had made a smaller tub, one that currently matched his dimensions. They were crafty and wickedly talented after all, and he was grateful for that.

It wasn't long until he was laying in the comfort of the steamy water. The biting sensation was much more tolerable now, than before. He had to say that he was amazed at just how much he had learned from these first two days. Brokkr seemed to understand where he ranked in terms of experience immediately, and was therefore already prepared to guide him and introduce him to new concepts.

Norns, the new tips and tricks he learned where a real life savior, and he was positive that he had already improved some. But there was still undoubtedly much more to learn, study and practice. He was very happy and proud to have brought a few blank books and quills. Brogr was going to fil lynne with notes and information on the subjects that he was acquiring knowledge of. And that still wasn't touching the world of runes and seidr, the young smith was ecstatic of being introduced to such things, for they would surely increase him proficiency and raw skill massively.

As he was fantasizing about metals and instruments and magics, the water around him had lost most of its heat, becoming lukewarm as a result. Eventually, Brogr knew that it was time to get out. He had had his rest, his relaxation, but now it was time to become serious once more.

He gingerly passed the soaped cloth over the jagged red lines that cursed his otherwise muscular body, and grit his teeth to hold back the groan that wanted to escape from his throat.  
It took only a couple of passes, and then the deed was done. Brogr got out of the bath, and began to dry himself with a fur towel by wrapping it around and over his shoulders.

Soon, he would have to cut some of his hair off: it was getting too long for his liking, and that would require him to spend more time drying it, least he wanted to feel water dripping from it and onto his back.  
His beard was growing fuller now, his chin had finally been covered completely by the brown hairs, and now they were reaching up to join his mustache. He was going to have to braid that as well, for smithing with a big, unkept beard could present the risk of making it catch on fire, which would not be positive in anyway for him.

The scars, they hurt less, and Brogr remembered that he only had to wait a few more days until he could finally go on with his daily life without having to dress them. But they were still an ugly sight, an ever constant reminder of the horrors that he had seen and experienced with his very own flesh.

Calmly, he folded the towel and set it down on a small stool, and proceeded to dress up again.  
It was of course mandatory that he take care of his room, but luckily for him, he was used to having to clean and make his own meals... the time during which that bitch Hlif was with his father was proof enough. Coupled with the two years that he had spent at the training camp.

But all in all, he was enjoying his stay, and enjoyed his lessons and sessions with Brokkr, even if this was only his second day. It was better than what he imagined.

For now at least he would rest easily, and hopefully he would heal some from his nightmares.


	15. Blood and Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brogr improves on his skills and finds peace amongst the dwarves.

Nidavellir...

Brogr grit his teeth in effort as he bathed the sizzling red hot metal in the bucket of oil. Flames erupted from the violent contact between the fiery steel and cold liquid. The sudden change in temperature set the hairs on his skin ablaze, and it was nearly too unbearable to tolerate. But he pushed through against the pain anyways.

The young asgardian then picked up the flattened rod with a pair of heavy tongs, and placed it on an anvil. Quickly, he began to hammer at the steel, bright sparks of light exploding in the point where the head of the instrument struck. 

Brogr had experience and skills to back up his strength, and even though the composite alloy of uru was extremely durable and had a high tensile yield, it began to wane under his repetitive blows. The metal began to bend against the hard edges of the anvil, just like how he wanted it to.

After the glow began to dissipate, he shoved the steel back inside the blazing forge, the object seemingly screaming in horrendous ways, almost as if it were alive.

Brokkr silently watched from the corner in the smithy as his apprentice worked with diligence. After a little over two years, he had come a long way from the initial set of skills that he knew. And now, he was able to properly use his strength accordingly to win over the unbreakable bonds of the steel.

Brogr had been catching his breath as he waited for the metal to reach its melting point once more. After he had obtained such a result, he retrieved the metal once more and set it inside yet another bucket of oil, resulting in yet another blaze of flames.   
It was time now, only a couple more hits to correct its shape, and the core had been completed. He would need to add the seidr to complete and pass his test.

Holding the blade still with a pair of heavy stones, Brogr slit a part of his forearm, hissing as he did. Bright red blood seeped from the wound, falling down onto the hot metal as singular droplets, and a red mist seemingly appeared over the steel and uru alloy. 

Armed with a straight pick and a smaller hammer this time around, Brogr set the tip of the pointed object against the steaming metal.

Quickly, he began to carve the dwarven runes into the blade, small flakes of metal accumulating around the edges of the pick as he did. He did not need to use any instruments or objects to make sure that the symbols were properly aligned. Months and months of experience had paid off. The memory of such actions were ingrained in his muscles from pure repetitiveness. 

His eyes had coordinated the exact point and place in which the runes would have to be etched on. And as usual, he was right in their placement. It was perfect, as it always was.   
Finally finishing with the symbols, Brogr stepped back a little, gathering a handful of orange dust in his palms. He threw the grain on the metal and a screeching echo of was heard from it.

Magic was alight in the room, it was nearly palpable. Brogr squared his shoulders, sighing as he prepared himself. Silently, his lips began to move, uttering untold and unheard enchantments, words that to the average citizen and even seidr user would sound like nothing more than gibberish.

But the things that he was murmuring were foreign and complicated spells. His hands were moving in tandem as well, forming elaborate symbols as the runes glowed a bright red in color with each word. 

Brokkr kept observing Brogr attentively as the young man began to sweat and slightly stutter, the words were jumping a little in his mouth. He was struggling, he was struggling more and more as the continuous usage of seidr took its toll on him. 

For a moment, it seemed as if Brogr would keel over and fall to the ground, especially when he kept quiet for a moment. But he continued on anyways, amidst exhaustion, amidst pain.

Brogr ended the set of spells and reached forward to grasp the hammer and slam it down on the heated metal in a number of furious strikes, these were the last few corrections to the nearly unblemished blade.

Finally, he settled down, and began to pant, his lungs burning. When he had collected his wits, he retrieved a handle and some leather. It took him a few minutes to finally put together a worthy handle, including a set of decorative runes and drawing on it. The same he did with the long piece of hardened wood that he had previously enchanted with a spell that improved its overall durability, so that it resembled the hardness of something akin to iron.

With a rod, Brogr locked the head of the axe to the rest of body, completing his task at long last. The towering dwarf came forward to look at his axe. He gently took it in his hands, and brought it up to eye level. He gingerly looked at the weapon, scanning over it like had done many times with all of the others of Brogr's creations. 

He took a hammer and banged it against the sharp edge of the head, and the metal was cut clean in half. A grunt akin to approval was heard coming from his large chest. "Well done. That concludes our lesson." he simply told him as he put the axe away in a pile with the rest of the weapons. 

In the last few hours, the master blacksmith had tasked the asgardian with creating several weapons enchanted with dwarven runes and seidr. A number of those objects included a pair of great swords, a long sword, a war hammer, three spears and a number of daggers. They had been here since early morning, and once again, Brogr had proven to be an excellent student.

"You may go." he swallowed a little bit of saliva, realizing now just how dry his throat truly was. "Same time tomorrow?" "Yes." the dwarf grunted.

Cleaning his dirty hands on the back of his tunic, Brogr hefted and puffed as he grabbed the group of weapons and began to steadily make his way out of the room. 

The weight was a excessive, and given his shorter than average height, he had a harder time carrying all of the weapons. Even if he had been formally trained by the trainers, he had not practiced fighting in over two years. The young asgardians was sure that his skills had dulled and rusted beyond belief; but he did not think that he would ever need to use said skills ever again. Or at least he hoped to.

"Ay, Brogr, why don't ya call for help ya small shrump!" a happy voice sounded from next to him, and he turned briefly to look at the newly arrived man.

"Grindirt, good to see you. Would you mind helping me over here?" he asked, an undertone of urgency present in his tone. The jolly giant laughed hard and picked up the sack of weapons easily, resting it on his shoulder and giving him a light pat on the back, which nearly caused his face to meet the metal floor.

"My, that sad brooder of Brokkr worked you out, eh?" he asked with a chuckle, "Look at all of these forged weapons, no wonder you couldn't stand on your two feet!” Brogr got back up and gave him an annoyed glance, "Easy for you to say: you pump iron, literally!" the other laughed once again, "And yet you golden clad shits go on and praise yerselves as the strongest and mightiest of warriors? HA! Ya make my tummy hurt with the giggles!" he joked.

It was not too long after he had settled on Nidavellir that the apprentice had begun to be approached by a few notable figures. Grindirt was one such figure, easily recognizable by his loud, boisterous personality and easygoing attitude, he was the definition of a hothead, for he loved to drink mead, and to forge weapons above all else.

It wasn't an uncommon sight to see him drunkenly stumble half naked in and out of a smithy. And though he did get periodically in trouble with the more seasoned veteran craftsmen, he continued to act as he did.

"Come on now, have I ever done such a thing, can you even recall a time that I did?" he asked, "And exclude the memories which happen to be accompanied by a bottle of beer. Being drunk doesn't count." he wagged his finger at him. 

"Eh..." he hummed, rubbing his bushy beard, twirling a few strands of it in his large hand. "I can't say that I do." and Brogr turned around to hide the victorious smile that he had plastered on his face.

"Why don't ya come with me to the tavern later, after yer cleaned yar little dress?" the dwarf mocked. "Grindirt, I've told you several times already that it is important to smell good, especially in the company of other people. And I have also asked you to please refrain from commenting on my beard." he did get protective over it: he had grown his facial hair for the last twelve months, and was pleased that he could finally braid it now. It gave him a small dosage of personal pride.

"You call that flimsy tuff of fur a beard?" he gestured to his own orange pelt that was hanging from his chin, "This is a beard!" and indeed it was: it reached down past his knees, and came to nearly touch his toes.

And although Brogr would never admit it publicly, he was extremely jealous of it, and Grindirt always made an effort to tease him on the matter.

"Come, I'd rather wash myself as quickly as possible, tis a sin, tis a crime you say." "Of course I do! Why else do you think I would comment against it so frequently?"

It was later that he had dressed in lighter clothing again that Brogr walked through the elaborate and spacious corridors of Nidavellir. He had taken with him a boo which contained his notes and lessons. Even if Brokkr didn't tell him to do it, Brogr would spend the evenings of his days wandering around the rotating ring, inserting himself into classes.

There were other asgardians like him, yes, but he did not interact with them often, as most of them were here to simply learn the basics of smithing. And compared to what he was learning, those skills seemed like child's play.

He instead wandered to numerous smithies and shops and would observe whatever it was that the dwarves were doing.

Luckily for him, these people were calm and tranquil, and would gladly and politely answer his questions. If anything, they were wanton in helping him learn more.

And that was why he was now scribbling down the words that a woman was telling him, as she carefully traced seidr runes on what appeared to be an oversized horn (for him at least) her fingertip lightly glowing with arcane power.

"The essence of seidr is drawn from the will of the user. And a good user, will know the quantities of effort it will take to add the particular types of enchantments that he or she needs. Accordingly, he or she, will be aware of the will that they will have to muster."

The dwarf, Muna, spoke clearly to him as he quietly looked on as she deposited the object in front of him. He briefly touched it, and was amazed at the silver glow that it gave off upon contact. "But this still depends on seidr affinity? Right?"

Her green eyes assumed a sympathetic look to them, "Yes Brogr, I am afraid that that is the case." she knew that the fact weighed heavily on him. The matter was that to become truly exceptional at forging, one needed to know how to use the arts of magic to further enhance his creations. 

That was what set apart the great blacksmiths from the very best. And unfortunately for Brogr, he did not have much of seidr affinity. It was hereditary in a way: if one parent, or even better both, were talented in the usage, then the resulting son or daughter would be just as attuned, if not more.

Of course, one could certainly train himself for years and years, but that still did not do much to increase their affinity, it would simply allow them to use it in easy and simple constructs, but anything more complicated than that would virtually impossible to achieve for the individual.

"And there is no other way, is there?" "No." Brogr had been gifted an especially made ring by Brokkr, which allowed him to isolate and focus the seidr, giving him the capability of doing far more than what he would have ever been capable of doing.

Still, even with the additional help, the man struggled more than usual. It was a tricky art, one that was not easy to master. 

Muna had come to know about Brogr and his personality, and she knew that he despised being forced to rely on anything else other than his own skills. She believed in a person's worth, and their drive that guided them, and it saddened her old heart to see this young man be incapable of removing the jaws of the obstacle that prevented him from transcending to a better, higher opportunity.

He simply made peace with the fact, and resulted to using the ring, though it drained him and left him tired. That also explained why he was more tired than usual today, given that Brokkr had been especially more demanding of his efforts.

"Well, your concern is appreciated Muna, it gladdens me to know that you care." she chuckled and smiled, ruffling his hair with a large hand as he yelped and cursed at her for the action. 

"We don't want another person to become like old Brokkr over there. I swear that he must have done something to the Norns for them to curse him." she stated, shaking her head.

"Do you have anymore commissions to work on?" "The last one, actually. Do you still wish for me to talk to you about it?" "Please do, I am very much eager to learn." he shifted his lower body, so that he was sitting with crossed legs.

Muna laughed a little at his straightforwardness. Brogr was interesting to be around with, as he was mostly quiet and reserved.

She was working on a spear now, beatfly crafted and decorated with the twisting body of a snarling serpent. Again, the dwarf woman began to mutter dark words as the runes appeared. 

Her skill and affinity were so good that she did not need to carve the runes by hand, they would carve themselves into the metal. The spear began to even levitate slightly off the ground, dotted orange lines curling around the shaft and conveying to the very bottom of the very staff.

Soon, she was finished, and caught the spear in her hand before it could fall down. "Amazing." Brogr spoke with admiration for her work as she showed him the weapon more closely so that he could take notes of the object.

"Do you recognize the significance of these runes?" she asked as he attentively observed the faintly glowing symbols. "They mean..." he quickly thought about it, "Ice? I think its ice, at least." 

"Very good, you are getting better at reading." she pressed the uru tip of it against a piece of wood and the asgardians watched in disbelief as frost began to seemingly seep out of the spear and clot all around the wood, coating it in a breezing cold blue.

"Did the cat catch your tongue Brogr?" that was a saying that he had taught her, among other phrases. "It's simply that... I'm in awe of your work once again. I would be lying if I did not say that I was slightly jealous of your skills with seidr." "But you can still manage it, can't you?" 

He sighed, propping his chin on his fist as he stroked his beard: "I mean, it is possible to do so, but it does get exhausting, especially since I must use some of my own blood to help ground the magic, along with the other arcane dusts." he pulled the shirt up to his elbow, exposing a set of new freshly healed scars. 

"I see." she spoke quietly, face nearly cringing at the ghastly sight. Brogr quickly covered himself again, a little ashamed of the reaction that he had generated in her. Muna noticed and quickly began to apologize, "I am sorry Brogr, I did not mean to offend your feelings like that." he waved at her, offering a small smile, "It is alright, I know that they aren't a pretty sight. I pray to the Norns that the time will come that I won't have to keep slashing away at my skin to improve my work." 

He was getting melancholic, and Muna was quick to notice that: "Hey, stop brooding like that. I knew that mentoring under Brokkr would have been a bad influence on you. Soon you won't even smile anymore!" he scoffed, "Please, I have already had this conversation with Grindirt, you don't need to join him in it." "Do shut up dear, instead, try some of this freshly baked bread, straight from out of the oven." she moved to a casket that was covered by a cloth.

Brogr had seen it upon entering her smithy, and had wanted to ask on its whereabouts, but refrained from doing so, fearing that it may be seen as rude or offensive.

The smell of the freshly cooked food that had come from the bakery awake his hunger, and his stomach let out a loud growl, causing him to flush red in embarrassment as Muna laughed.

Gently, she cut a piece of the loaf for each of them, and they began to consume the small snack. "Excellent, really tasty." Brogr commented as small crumbs fell out of his mouth and onto his shirt. Muna swallowed what she had in her mouth before playfully chastising him, "Did you forget good manners boy? It is not a pretty sight when the person you are talking to can clearly see what it is that you are chewing. Have some darn dignity, will you now?"

He rolled his eyes at her: "You are one to talk. Shall we go over the fact that you served me food without even washing your hands? For all I know, I may very well be poisoning my body at this moment. My lack of manners is of little importance and consequence compared to your poor, forgetful habit." the apprentice retorted.

"Damn it! I thought you wanted to be a smith, not a Norns forsaken minister of law!" she lightly pushed him on the shoulder.  
She was much like a grandmother in a lot of ways, at least from the general definition of what a grandmother was supposed to be... Brogr had never known his parent's parents. The best he could do was to ask his father about them, and in that case they were nearly identical: having both lost their respective mothers at a young age.

"Brogr, you are doing it again. Mark my words, the day that you will become like Brokkr, the star will loose its shine and power. Those are my predictions." he held a hand up to his lips to hide his laughing grin. 

"Has it occurred to you that it is yours and everyone else's constant teasing that cause him to be and act the way he is? I mean, you do keep on making fun of him, and one does not need to drink from Mimir's Well of Wisdom to known that his mood will surely sour."

"Oh, we are not that cruel. We simply like to have some form of fun and entertainment, that's all."

After eating a healthy dinner, Brogr was once again writing in his personal book, recounting the daily experiences. It could not be called a diary for the information written in it did not revolve around his emotions.

"And if the tin is melted to a liquid-like state, it will react quickly and violently to contact with a shard of uru that has been attuned to hold a small quantity of dark magic. As such, these kinds of situations should be avoided..." he trailed off, trying to make his writing slightly more comprehensible. 

These past two years had done him a lot of good: the constant trials and tests that Brokkr gave him kept his mind sharp and his skills even more so.   
He had achieved a state of sleep in which he would not dream about Beigarth, on most nights. Though of course, the dreaded nightmares would eventually return.

The oiled tip of his quill stopped briefly as he remembered all that had occurred, and he closed his eyes, his hand immediately going to rub over his missing finger. 

It was definitely easier now to deal with the memories, but that still did not mean that they didn't unsettle him deeply.

Sighing through his nose, he dipped the quill back inside the pot of ink and concluded the description of the experiment that he had performed recently.

After blowing on the paper to let the dark liquid dry, Brogr opened another book of his, this one was instead dedicated to creations that he wanted to forge, whether they be objects or weapons.

These were centralized and based off of the more complicated set of teachings that he was undergoing at the moment. These 'commissions' of his where all theoretically possible, and they all required the usage of seidr.

It had also dawned on him that upon learning and acquiring more and more knowledge on the art of blacksmithing, he would need to add and change a few things at the forge that was on the lower floor of his father's shop.

It simply was not equipped with a few of the things that the dwarves regularly used, and that were essential to being able to properly forge. Brogr was already thinking on how to improve the particular shape of the hearth. It would need to be able to sustain temperatures of a much higher degree than what it had been built for. That was going to be a must, if he wanted to use uru.

It would cost some gold to do so, but if Gerril's words from his letters were anything to go by, it was that lord Ulvkilsson would be ready to help him construct what he needed. 

That was another thing, his father. The lord that had employed him had been so well pleased with his sire's work that he had given him the entire uppermost level of the building all to himself, which coincidentally held the most beautifully and expensively decorated rooms. It was a well thought out gift and one that Gerril was taking full advantage of.

A different bit of news that had been told by him, and that had also arrived at Nidavellir, was the fact that queen Frigga had miscarried the child in her womb, short of a few months from birth. King Odin had been reportedly deeply upset of the fact, if the rumors were to be believed.  
For in the end, anything related to the royal family was shrouded in between truth and lies, often times the two were too closely knitted together that it was impossible to tell one apart from the other.

That certainly explained the new campaign in Vanaheim, king Fjorgynn had been adamant when the reasoning for this sudden invasion was to root out all of the rebellious traitors. Though the monarch himself was allied to the asgardians, and was not attacked, horrifying tales had come forth that the Allfather had unleashed his two daughters on the realm's countryside, purging entire regions and salting the fields that were used to grow crops, rendering much of the lands barren and devoid of life.

In reality, there was much slaughter, even of the innocent smallfolk and peasants. Brogr knew not the specifications of the campaigns, or the places where the battles happened, but even he could see that this invasion had also served as a strategic move, to overall weaken the vanir king's power.

And the blacksmith was sure that the only reason for why Vanaheim still wasn't officially part of the empire was because the two ruling families were bound by marriage. But it would likely be only a matter of time before those vows were ignored and the warmongering queens decided to fully conquer the realm.

It had also been here on Nidavellir that Brogr had made another gut wrenching discovery: it was the fact that the empire was much, much larger in size then what he had previously thought.  
In between the ten realms, there were hundreds of other worlds present, each of them conquered and colonized. And the harsh brutality of the Allfather's regime that these planets were also used mostly for food production and mining operations. Whilst slavery was banned on Asgard and in the empire at a general, these worlds were harvested and consumed by the power hungry nature of the crown, their own people, their very own inhabitants that had once been in control of their home were worked to death.

And unfortunately, it made sense: even if he would have wanted to pass this information as a blatant lie, it would not explain how the empire was able to sustain itself given that it focused primarily so much on warfare. He always knew that the few fields present in the outskirts of the golden city did not produce enough food to feed even half of the populace. 

But these new revelation made his heart clench with renewed sadness, to think that everything was so much more worse than what he actually thought it was. And he had been too blind to notice it until it had been directly presented to him. 

He had been surprised when he had caught the sight of a few different races: including one whose's skin tone was that of a light blue. They were named Kree, if he had heard them right, and had come to ask the dwarves to supply them with weapons and gears, as well as help them in their efforts to combat and undermine Asgard's control of the ten realms.

King Eitri had to refuse them, for it would mean the end of his own people. There were numerous enchantments around the rotating rings, which prevented Heimdall's sight from watching them, and they made sure that the Allfather's ravens could not spy on them either.

And as things were, the dwarf king had to notify the empire's ruler of this development. It did not matter if the dwarves were the ones to provide Asgard with the most powerful of weapons, Nidavellir would still fall if it came down to a war. They would be starved, sieged, and finally slaughtered all to the last man, woman and child.

It was not a noble action, the one that king Eitri had taken, but it was necessary evil for the survival of his home. 

He tiredly rubbed his eyes, realizing that it was getting late. Yawning, he stood up and stretched his arms upwards, feeling his back pop a couple of times, causing him to release a hiss of pleasure. Brogr then began to take off his shirt, pants and small clothes, in that order respectively.

The smith blew out the small flame that was alight on top of the wax candle, and his room was engulfed in darkness. Silently, he placed himself under the covers of his bed, and closed his eyes, intent on entering the realm of slumber.

Three hard, loud knocks were heard coming from his door, but Brogr was already awake, and so it was a curious sight to see Brokkr's eyebrow twitch upwards in surprise. Of course, he didn't comment on anything, but he told him to come with a wave of his hand.

They silently walked through the prime ring of the gigantic forge, the citizens were awake and already fast at work, the sound of the hammer smashing against scalding metal was one that echoed throughout the entirety of the artificial station.

Soon, they passed by the smithy in which Brogr would practice, and he immediately took notice that his master hadn't stopped walking, Norns, he didn't even look at the room.

"Brokkr, are we not stopping at the forge? Where are we going?" he asked, unsure of where the dwarf was taking him.

His reply was short and curt one: "You will see." so he instead resigned himself to simply wait until they arrived at their destination. 

He understood that they were going towards the throne room, as he had recognized the part in which they were walking. But king Eitri wanted to speak to him? "Does your brother wish to see me?" he asked, "Yes." obviously, he did not add anymore information.

Soon, he was face to face with the dwarf king, who was rubbing his temple. It was obvious that the burden of wearing a crown weighed heavily on his consciousness, with all of its hard tasks and even harder decisions.

"Ah, Gerrilsson, I wanted to speak to you." "I am here to listen, Eitri." a part of him still felt compelled to call him by his proper title, but he pushed that feeling away. 

"I must say that you are quite talented Brogr. Given your older than average age, I would have expected the apprenticeship to take somewhere between five and six years; but to the satisfaction of my brother and I, you will likely finish the course in a few months." that surprised greatly.

"I... I don't know what to say, honestly..." he bowed his head at the praise. "Then say nothing and relish in your pride, you've earned it." the towering man laughed a little.

"But I also wanted to discuss another thing." he informed him, "I am listening." he pointed towards one of the openings in the wall, where the neutron star could be seen in the distance, a beam of pure energy could be seen coming from the eye of the folding mechanism. Some new, mythical creation was being forged, composed of the perfected ingots of uru and enchanted to be especially potent.

Brogr still had to advert his gaze as the flash of light hurt his eyes if he stared at the column directly. "What about the star?" "We wished to discuss on its importance for your next lessons." he gave him a confused look, obviously still not understanding what they meant.

"Lad, until now my brother has only taught you how to forge and construct weapons in our ways, both by manual and seidr use, and consequentially duel forging in both ways. But now we shall teach you on how to forge truly exceptional creations." he crossed his arms over his chest, looking fondly over at the star, almost as if it were an old, lifelong friend.

"All of our greatest devices have been created thanks to that source of energy, which powers our small realm. It is thanks to that star, and only that star, that we have been able to become such talented blacksmiths." Brogr snapped his head towards him: "Wait, so that means that all of my lessons will now be revolving around the star forge?" he asked excitedly, like a child that had just been gifted a mountain of chocolates.

The dwarf king chuckled, delighted in his amazement, "Yes, now it is the time that you officially graduate. These next few months will be the hardest and most taxing on you, but by the end of it, you will come out a proficient smith, on par with some of us I might even say." again, Brogr bowed his head, cheeks tinted red in embarrassment, "You are too generous Eitri, but thank you nonetheless." 

Strangely, it was Brokkr who spoke up next, "I will also compose a list of items that you will need to purchase once you return to Asgard. Without them, all of your newly acquired skills and knowledge will be useless." he smiled, "Norns, I was actually doing the same thing not too long ago, though it may end up costing a noticeable amount of coin." 

The king smirked at his brother, "Are you sure he's asgardian Brokkr? He doesn't act like the typical one, that's for sure. But don't fret young Brogr, if need be, I will write a letter of recommendation to the lord that's hosting you. It will be more than enough to convince him." 

"Thank you once more for your generosity Eitri." he nodded his gratitude. "Well, if that will be all, then I am afraid that I will have to leave you. Kingly duties require my attention, but take the rest of the day off lad, enjoy what small modicum of freedom you have left, for my glum brother will work your bones to dust." he was not able to tell if he was actually being serious or simply joking, but he bid them goodbye anyways, strolling out of the royal quarters.

"Excuse me, is it possible to stay and sit here?"Brogr asked in a hushed tone as he had just entered a library. The dwarf woman that was at the front desk raised her head from the frankly massive tome that she held in her hands. "Yes, do as you please, but keep quiet." she replied in an equally silent tone.

He thanked her with a nod and made his way to one of the many rows of books. Luckily, some of them were written in asgardian, and were custom made so that they could be comfortably read by beings of his stature. A book titled "The joys and hardships of smithing" immediately caught his interest. True, almost all of these works of literature were based exclusively on the art of blacksmithing, but he would be damned ten times over if he didn't admit to not enjoying them deeply. They were leagues better than the books dedicated to war and poetry that were all too common and popular among the realm.

Sitting down in a small chair that was cushioned with soft leather, Brogr allowed himself to relax, taking comfort in the feeling of the hearth's heat moving all over his body. It made him feel cozy, like on a winter night back in Asgard, or even Svartalheim.

He opened the book and his fingers were magnetically called to brush the elaborate drawings of a pair of dwarves that were hammering a thick chunk of metal. For being so damn big, these people could be meticulously precise and delicate with smaller details, such as this one. Brogr then proceeded to read through the introduction of the tome but quickly skipped it once he realized it was made more for credentials than other things.

A figure stumbled next to him and he raised his front to look at the lightly swaying dwarf, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Grindirt?" "Oy, Brogr! I was looking for you!" his breath reeked of mead, and it nearly made him gag. He smelled absolutely filthy! 

"Quiet, do you want to be kicked out? This is a public library for the sake of the Norns!" he whispered, shushing him as best as he could.  
"Come, sit down will you." he tried to push him down onto one of the chairs, but there was little he could do when the dwarf was several times his height. 

"What are you whining about? I am perfectly fine the way that I am, ya minuscule runt!" he slurred, and Brogr wanted to scream in frustration but merely resorted to rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Grindirt, you are drunk like an ox." he stated plainly, still trying to get him to sit down, but the dwarf wasn't having it. "Ah... what am I to do, listen to you Brogr, ah no..." he was holding a palm to his head, and all of a sudden he fell forward on the ground, face first. He had passed out even before reaching his destination and was now snoring loudly.

Brogr was going to rip his ears off, such was his annoyance. He paced back and worth, silently muttering cursed to himself as he constantly sent hasty looks towards the unconscious dwarf, wondering why it was that he had to interrupt his hour of peace.

"Damn it, what am I to do?" he questioned himself, and after mulling over the fact, weighing the positive and negative aspects of the various options that he had, he simply decided to do what he thought was the most logical thing solution to this problem. 

He walked back to the front of the library with a quick step, passing by many dwarves who were all invested in reading whatever bikes and manuscripts that they held in their mighty hands. 

"Excuse me." he spoke to the warden of the area. Once again, she looked at him after detaching her gaze from the swarm of runes that were printed on the page of paper. "Yes young one?" 

"I have a... Norns, how do I put this? I have a problem, if you will." he fumbled a little, opening and closing his fists as he felt a drop of swear trickle from behind his ear. "A problem you say?" she replied, setting the book down on her great wooden desk. "Yes, would you happen to know of a dwarf named Grindirt?" 

The woman closed her eyes and let out a nearly soundless groan. "I do, I unfortunately do." she got up, "Where is he? I would very much like to get back to my book." he gulped as she seemed to be annoyed with the present issue.

"Gladly, he is over here, please follow me." he began to walk by as the woman trailed right behind him. In a few minutes, they were in front of the sleeping giant. 

"You can see the difficult position that I am in." she didn't answer but whacked Grindirt over the head, but that did nothing except for making him mumble some nonsense. "Great, he is drunk." she raised her arms in exasperation "Among other things, yes." 

"This darn pig is too fat and heavy for me to carry." she shook her head, before turning on her heels and walking away. "Wait, are you going to simply leave? What about him?" "He will wake when he will wake. I have a book to finish."

"Fuck." Brogr cursed, sighing deeply. "Grindirt, Grindirt!" he tried to get him to rise from his slumber, but to no avail. "Damn it all." he let his arms uselessly fall back to his sides.

Grunting in frustration, he placed the book back in its holder and moved to exit the library. He was bummed out, and did not known what to do. The warden looked to be blaming him in some part, and he could tell that he was not welcomed.

Silently, he strode through the busy and noisy streets of the forge, before eventually entering inside a tavern. 

Strangely, it was quieter inside here: the patrons of the hall were collected and polite, so he quickly payed a couple of gold coins to purchase some bottles of mead. 

The entire room had a smell of coal to it, but it was not unpleasant, and instead reminded him of the forge. He poured himself a glass of the beverage and took a long sip of it.

Glass on Nidavellir was much more common than in asgard, as there were blacksmiths who specified in the work of glassmaking. And they were talented as well, capable of creating shard of the transparent material in a variety of limitless colors. And they sold quite well on the market.

He wondered if his father was enjoying a cup of mead back at the golden city. Still, the one that the dwarves brewed was much stronger than what he was used to, but in these last two years, Brogr had learned to measure himself, and known when it was time to stop, least he became like Grindirt.

He did not have much to think about, so it was inevitable that he ended up listening to some of the conversations that were being spoken at the tables next to him.

"Well, that would be the case, over a million fire giants, that was what Surtur fought with against the invading asgardians." one was speaking, to which Brogr couldn't help but snort and immediately cover his lower face and pretend to be doing something else.

But the dwarf nearest to him noticed it and turned so that his body was facing him. "Do you happen to know something about the war on Muspelheim?" he asked, though it wasn't done aggressively, nor hatefully: he was genuinely interested.

The smith was briefly caught off guard, "I beg you pardon?" "Do you know about the conquest of the realm of fire?" "Yes, I do." 

Another one shifted a little so that some space had been created on the bench he was sitting, "Would you care to join us as we talk?" he shrugged, even if a little hesitantly. 

Once he was there, the four men, gave him their full attention: "Well for one thing, I fought in the war." "You are a part of the einherjar legions?" a dwarf suddenly interrupted him, but was silent by a harsh hit to the ribs from the one sitting next to him, who chided him, "No it is alright, he did nothing wrong." 

"But in case you are curious, there are also the cohorts, composed of the recruits, such as myself." "And what are the differences between the two?"

"The einherjar are the proper warriors, the true fighters, who have trained since children. Us recruits, well you can understand from the name." he drank some more, "And we are frowned upon, seen as inferior." he replied, staring blankly at an undefined spot in front of him.

"You did not immediately join because?" one of the men cautiously asked, "I was working, I was a blacksmith, if I could even be called one..." the others laughed and praised him, "Good lad! You are made of worthy stuff, good job!" 

"But as for the invasion of the fire realm, you are wrong in stating that there were millions of giants. They were maybe a couple hundred at best." the dwarf had opened his mouth, seemingly to contest his claim. but he quickly continued: "And I can say that as I was on the front lines." he was at the very front, him and a measly group of over dozen. 

"What the deceased Surtur did have in large quantities were dragons and fire demons. Those were much more common compared to the giants." he muttered, idly tilting his glass to the sides, watching as the remnants of the mead sloshed around at the bottom of the container.

"How was it?" "Horrible, and I mean it in every sense of the word. The conditions of Muspelheim presented the first problems: you see, the air there is ash stricken and toxic. It hurts to breathe it and it stings the eyes." "But," one of the long bearded dwarves began to ask, clearly confused as witnessed by the confusion on his face, "were you not healed or helped at least? I am sure that there must have some spells, the one for the eye protection is very common in all of the ten realms." Brogr sighed.

"I was a recruit, and recruits are seen, and generally treated inferiorly." except for the moment in which the two tyrannical queens decided to reward them.

"And that also meant that we were the cows, to be sent out scouting and to not have to be held accountable. We were expendable, such was our duty." the other four hummed in thought.

"And it went on like that until the end of the war?" the young asgardian silently nodded, closing his eyes in tiredness and rubbing his hand over his face.

"Is it true that princess Aldrif defeated the fire king in single combat? Did her younger sister help her in the daunting task?" that was a specific question, "I was not able to properly see or notice the fight, as I was battling for the survival of my own life, but it is believed that she did it, and I agree with these claims." he answered honestly.

"It still does not make sense though." "What?" "What has happened to Muspelheim: it is not a realm of fire anymore, no, now it is a world like Asgard or Svartalheim. And it began to change seemingly like that." he snapped his fingers to prove his point. 

"In what way?" "There were actual trees and vegetation, and there was even a river that passed through the war camp." "Oh?" "Yes, and the skies were blue, like those of Asgard's. And it kept spreading over the rest of the realm, for if you were to pay attention at the horizon, you would notice the red mist that was so abundant on the realm."

The oldest of the dwarves, whose mane of hair was pure white raised his voice next: "I would say that sounds like the Aether, that is what the princesses must have used." 

"The Aether?" Brogr asked; he had never heard such a name in his life before now. "Yes, it is an ancient artifact of untold power. Originally it was used by the dark elves, and their mad ruler Malekith wanted to use its oscure machinations to plunge all of the realms into pure, unending darkness." he paused, seemingly reminiscing of times past. "That war happened long ago, I was about a boy at that point in my life. It was when you asgardians first came here to Nidavellir, and where our first treaty and alliance was founded."

"You speak of the war of the dark elves?" "The first, at the time. the Allfather was Bor Burison, father of the Allfather Odin. I remember the big, horned helmet that he carried, and Gungnir, Norns was it magnificent! All of it was dwarven design, I can still see it in my head." he spoke with wonder.

"But going back to the Aether, it could warp and shape reality to the user’s will, to his imagination. In all honesty though, I believe that it is in truth one of the weapons known as the Infinity Stones." "Infinity Stones?" "Yes, supposedly, the universe upon its birth created six singularities, objects of extraordinary power, capable of bending the essence of our dimension to another. One of these stones is the Reality Stone, which changes reality." 

Brogr was shocked, to know that now the crown possibly held one of the most dangerous artifacts in all of existence, "But what about the other five? Where are those?" the old dwarf shrugged.

"No one knows for sure, there are but whispers and rumors of their locations." "Do not take Auti's word for true, he tends to forget things quite often." the now named Auti turned to look at his younger peer: "I would remind you that I clearly remember that time in which you throughly soiled your pants- "Alright, there is no need to remember that memory!" the man was alarmed and the others chuckled at his expense.

"In honesty son, you are tired of it, right?" Brogr had an idea to what he was meaning, seeing as the old being had stared at him, especially when he had talked about the war.

"You have witnessed the horrors of blood and steel?" he sighed, resting his forehead against his steepled fingers: "Yes, far too many." "For one far too young." he spoke to him in a comforting manner, and in a sense, Brogr was comforted by his words, "Have you fought in a war sir?" 

The old dwarf sighed in sympathy, nodding, "I took part in the second conflict between Asgard and the Malekith. That was when we dwarves took our revenge for being cast out of our original home." 

Brogr worked up the will to utter his next words: "Do you still see them? The dead I mean." the senior man nodded his head once more, "I do, particularly when I sleep. It happens often." he added the last part in a quieter tone. 

The other dwarves did not dare to intervene, because they realized that these two were talking about serious and personal matters.  
They were letting two kindred spirits share their experiences.

"Have you ever had to kill someone? Of your own companions to save them from more pain and suffering?" he asked once more. "Yes." he concluded some time later after thinking about it.   
"And you have as well, aye?"

"Yes." Brogr confirmed his questions, "He was suffering, and in agony. I... hope that it was a mercy, I hope that I have at least done some good." 

He coughed, feeling the tightness in his throat that indicated the presence of a sob, waiting to jump out of his mouth and to the outside.  
"Does it get better?" he asked, his eyes adopting a wet look to them, the smith was becoming slightly emotional, but he managed not to show it much.

"It does lad, though the memories never will leave you. It is something that we will bring to our own graves, until our last breath before exiting this realm and entering another." the veteran warrior spoke, reaching back to give his large class cup to a passing patron of the tavern.

Some other people had gathered around to listen to their conversation, seeing as they were two different people, of different backgrounds, of wildly different ages, but still connected by the same unifying matter: war.

"Do you hate your enemies?" the dwarf asked. Brogr licked his lips, crossing his right leg over his left. "I frankly, do not known... what to think of them." 

"They weren't like us... they fire demons, did not seem autonomous, they looked to be compelled by something else, Surtur, I think, forced them. So I do not know if I should treat them with hatred and abhorrence." he even showed him the stump present on his left hand, and that caused some murmurs and whispers to echo out of the crowd, though they were mostly of shock and surprise.

"But the dragons, and the giants especially, I do. They enjoyed making my comrades suffer." he talked, feeling a little more at ease.

"And what about you?" the old dwarf leaned back in his seat a little, his back coming to rest against the wall. "It took me a long time to understand it, many a night I spent reflecting on these philosophical questions on my morality. And it took me too long to understand that not all of the dark elves wanted to fight."

The asgardian looked at the master blacksmith with a curious gaze, "So you do not hate them?" "Oh, do not misunderstand me, some of the dark elves, I despise greatly, but it was also true that many of them simply wanted to defend their homes, and live freely. Not all of them must have asked to be born under the reign of a mad ruler." 

He looked over to the crowd, as he was staring to share some of his well kept wisdom, "In the beginning, when the realms formed from the fires of Muspelheim and the frosty mists of Niflheim, we and the dark elves both emerged on Svartalheim. It was their home just as much as it was ours." he shared his beliefs to them, and Brogr was surprised at how open minded he was, at least compared to other elderly warriors that he knew.

Tough he had to remember that he was on Nidavellir, and the dwarves were much more peaceful compared to the warmongering asgardians that he lived with. 

"I wish that the people of my realm had the same mentality as your view sir... a lot of good would come out of it." 

Brogr felt his eyelids become a little heavy. "It is getting late, is it not?" he asked, and many of those sitting with him nodded their heads.

"Before you go, let us thank you for speaking of your past and experiences, we will value your words and advice greatly." said another dwarf looking between them.

"It was a pleasure to do so milady." "Aye, until we meet again young asgardian." the dwarf leant towards him and extended his open hand. 

Brogr did the same, and was delighted in feeling the senior warrior be gentle with his grip, for many dwarves tended to forget that he was more fragile than them. "Until next time old man." he concluded, much to the laughs of others, the dwarf he has spoken to, laughing the hardest out of all of them.

The walk back to his quarters was a silent one. The evening had gone well despite everything, whilst he didn't read as much as he would have wanted to, he had indulged himself in conversing with another person who could at least understand and relate to his past experiences.

"Brogr!" he heard a loud, burly voice call him from his left, and he turned his head to see a great mass barreling its way towards him.  
Brogr tensed up and threw his arms out in front of him, hoping to at least diminish the impact of the person who was going to trample over him. 

But surprisingly, he was not knocked over: cautiously, the smith peaked his eye opened as he heard the heavy panting and puffing of whoever was next to him. "Grindirt?" the dwarf was keeling forward, resting his hands against his bent knees, face red with effort and sweat coating his forehead.

"Brogr, good Norns that I found ya young lad! You had me running through all of these damned halls, Norns, why are you so small?! I nearly missed you passing!" the dwarf exclaimed jovially, and the apprentice was briefly shocked at his change in demeanor, as he had previously seen him lost well into his caskets of mead.

"Grindirt, breath, please. Why are were you searching for me?" he asked, putting a hand on his shoulder as the dwarf settled on the ground, still panting.

"Oh, to apologize for what I did earlier." he stated as if it were the clearest thing. Brogr shook his head disbelievingly: "You know better than me that this is not the first time that you have dragged me into an uncomfortable situation. I have already forgiven you Grindirt, you did not have to come to me so much haste." 

"Ah, but how would I apologize correctly to ya? The warden of the library had her payment by whacking ma thick head with her nasty broom, ya should have seen it Brogr! I tell you, she was going to kill me!" Brogr rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips, and he could not resist from grinning: "Maybe I should have helped her them, maybe with one of my hammers, the message would have gotten through that thick skull of yours." he emphasized his words by knocking his fingers on his forehead as the dwarf tiredly slapped them away.

"Stop that ya runt, I'm only," he coughed some, "Winded, I will be back up to my knees in no time, just you wait and see!" "Well, I am glad at least that you are sober enough."

He turned to head away: "I am heading back to my quarters, I shall see you on the morrow Grindirt, should the Norns will us to cross paths once more." but a large hand gripped him by the back of the shoulder and hastily pulled him back, nearly toppling him in the process.

"Wait, I still haven't given it to you." the taller man stated as he was getting back up to his feet, still breathing heavily as he did. "Grindirt, if you please, I would like to go back to my quarters, I have to clean them." it was the truth: he hadn't yet done so in a week, and the floor would get awfully clouded with ash and dust, leaving it dirty.

"Here, I worked my ass off to get ya this made, the cook was mercilessly Brogr. She wouldn't let me have it!" he opened the small bag he was carrying, and Brogr was hit with a wave of steam as the smell of cherries overwhelmed his senses.

"These are..." the asgardian began to say as he closely looked at the steaming pie, admiring just how massive it was. It looked delicious, and he would be lying if he did not confess that his mouth began to salivate. "A cherry pie? Grindirt, it is no wonder why the cook was so adamant in making it for you, do you have any idea of how rare cherries are here on Nidavellir?"

Back in Asgard, they were very common, but in the small realm of the dwarves, they were considered to be a delicacy amongst other rare foods.  
"It would not have been a good present eh? I got only the best for ya, right here. Take it, these are my apologies for earlier as I was saying." he finished and pushed the bag into Brogr's arms.

"Grindirt, to be honest now, I would fully accept your apologies if you did something else." the dwarf groaned in annoyance: "For fuck's sake Brogr! What else do ya want? Are you going to ask me to kill myself next?" he jokingly asked.

But his condition would be much more cruel than that: "No. You will have to promise me, nay, swear to me, to never get that drunk. Ever again." Grindirt stared at him with shocked eyes, as if he had killed his family.

"What-Why-You-How?" he sputtered out frantically not believing what the asgardian was asking of him. Brogr could not resist it anymore and he laughed loudly, and the dwarf quickly understood that he was nesting.

"Ah shut up! Ya will give me a scare one of these days! That was mean Brogr, fuck off!" he chided it him, and thought may have sounded threatening, the apprentice knew that it was all in good nature.

"Once again, thank you Grindirt, I will take my leave now. Oh, and do not think that I didn't mean he's tI said shortly ago. That wish of mine still remains." he spoke a little louder, as he was walking away, the pie being placed securely under his arm.

The walk back home was a relatively short one, and not so noisy as it would have been during the beginning and middle of the day: most of the shops were beginning to close, their owners intent on eating dinner and going to rest in their comfortable beads.

But even then, the echoing bangs of the heavy metal hammers upon the raw uru still created a collection of sounds that were pleasing to the ear. He waved at a couple of the still working smiths that he knew, including Muna.

He would have liked to go talk to her, but she looked occupied, given the couple of customers that were idly standing at the front of her smithy.

Silently, and happily, he came back to his quarters, closing the door and placing the bag onto the table that was pushed against the wall.  
Brogr did not waste much time in grabbing a bucket of water, and a broom. No less than a minute later, he was already sweeping the floor, leaving no inch of it untouched. 

He had made sure to take his shoes off before starting, and had set them close to the door. That way, he would not immediately dirty the wet pavement. 

It did not take long, coupled with the fact that Brogr had already done this several times during his stay. And when he thought about it, he had done this action for nearly most of his life: from when his mother had died, to the time at the training grounds and during the campaign in Muspelheim.

His hand briefly went to touch the top of the scar that adorned his upper pectoral muscle. Even after all of this time, they still caused him discomfort whenever he touched them in their sensitive places, that being the end at his hip, and the middle of the scar that was stamped in his side. Norns, they still did not stop from reminding him of bad times...

But he kept well by thinking of something else, such as the pie that was still waiting for him at the table. 

That motivated him to finish with cleaning the walls of the room. Shortly after that, Brogr removed the rest of his clothes, and folded them in a neat pile. Tomorrow, he would bring them to dwarves who properly washed and ironed them. He whole pay them their fee, and bring back the batch of clothing that he had left there yesterday.

Walking barefoot to the bathroom, he quickly filled the tub with hot water, before dipping his fingers in to get used to the temperature.

The asgardian finslyl immersed himself fully into the water, a pleasured sigh escaping from his throat. Leisurely, he let his neck and head rest against the edge of the tub humming to himself a small tune that he had heard from one of the singing bards back in Asgard. He knew not the words, but he found that he did not care much for them. The basic rhythm of it was enough to satisfy him, musically speaking that was at least. 

"Norns, I haven't written to father in awhile." it was true: he had somewhat neglected from replying to the last letter that Gerril had sent him. 

But he would not blame himself too hard for it, given that Brokkr had really pushed him to his limits these last few weeks.

The fact that he was nearing his graduations as something that was very exciting to him. It would not take long before then. Brogr had already learned so much, but now it was time to finally master these last few concepts.

And he would return to Asgard a changed blacksmith, prepared to make a name for himself. And his dreams would be achieved with time and effort. Yes, he could already imagine his own son, or daughter reading from his journal and book of notes, learning from what he had written. Better yet, Brogr wouldn't even have to send them to Nidavellir, he could just teach them right then and there.

Of course, if they did want to go, he would not stop them, but support them wholeheartedly. The cost of the gold would not be too much of a problem, considering clients would pay well and handsomely for his craft. As a certified master smith, he would be sought out by influential people.

And of course, if they did not want to follow in his footsteps, but instead want to achieve another goal, he would let them, unless it had to do with joining and training at the barracks. That would be the only occasion in which Brogr would voice his disapproval. He did not want for anyone that he held dearly to know of the tragedies that were so common in war. 

Coming out of his daydreaming, he started to wash at his skin with the soap, and then finally exiting the tub, letting the water flow out into the drain. With a certain sense of calmness, he dressed in his nightclothes and went back to the main room of his quarters.

The next thing he did was lighting up a few candles and placing them in points were they would properly illuminate the entirety of his living space.   
Once that was done, he sat at the table, and took the pie out of the sturdy, yet flexible bag.

It was still warm, and the smell of it was still so glorious. Whilst this wasn't the healthiest of dinners (as his father would surely tell him right now) but he would indulge himself to the sweetness of the pie. It would be his last, great act of fun before the months of labor began under Brokkr's tutelage.

The dessert tasted amazing, as he was expecting. The cherry flavor was fabulous, and it nearly made him sigh out loud, but he stopped himself from doing so.

He eagerly ate from the plate and soon, a half of that pie remained, that half soon became a quarter, and that quarter soon became nothing. With a final mouthful of the food, Brogr swallowed it and sent it down into his gullet to be digested.

He leant back and groaned loudly. "Norns, that was a wonderful pie..." he spoke with tiredness, as he was quite full. Never had he imagined a cherry pie could taste that good, but it also made sense to remember that he hadn't eaten it in a very large amount of time.

He stretched his arms upwards and then back, trying to work the heavy load of food that was being processed in his intestines. He got up with a sigh, and went to the bathroom once more to brush his teeth and relieve himself.

And once again, the smith found himself lying on the titanic frame of his bed, staring up at the dark ceiling of his room. This had been an unexpected day, full of surprises, and a couple of annoyances that he hadn't been aware would happen. But the positive revelations had far outweighed the negatives, and that cherry pie did make up for the mess that Grindirt had caught him in.

"So essentially, what makes these ingots of uru, and consequently the weapon itself so special is the mold. Is that what it is?" 

Brokkr grunted. It was a yes. "Alright..." Brogr nodded his head as he observed the dwarf seal the cast of it. It was large, shaped like a square and had a set of circles at the center of it, each curving line marked with a set of runes.

"You could say that most of the work goes here Brogr. It isn't so much as manually forging the weapon with a hammer than it is enchanting this stiff block with the proper seidr." and that confirmed some more of his suspicions: "So the object will come out already made."

Kramnor nodded his head at him. "Yes, then the only thing left to do is to assemble it with a handle and other decorations if need be." he was to help Brokkr in his quest to fully teach the asgardian.

"That would be the logic, but by default, you will not be able t forge weapons like this, since you will not have a dying star, much less the more exotic materials present only here on Nidavellir. And now we shall show you how to create similar weapons as this with your own two hands." and the young apprentice was gladdened to hear that.

"Yes, I would very much want to learn about that." Kramnor chuckled deeply, "Do not get ahead of yourself boy, you will first need to learn of the extensive work and method that goes into creating the mold." he gestured at him to follow, "Come."

The asgardian and the two dwarves made their way to another room, which was not too distant from where the main forge of the neutron star was situated.

The people that lived here worked significantly harder, as this was also the busiest place in the small realm. Brogr kept close to his instructors, as he was nearly stepped over several times by other blacksmiths who hadn't noticed him and hadn't thought of looking downwards. Apprentices were rare, given the immense price that the tuition comported.

"Here we are, it is much better listening to the calm quiet instead of all that clanking noise back there, isn't it?" Kramnor commented. "It is." Brogr agreed, as Brokkr stepped forward to retrieve a few slap of stones and other materials.

"Do you have any enchantments to increase your usage of seidr? And since we are on the topic, how good is your seidr affinity?" the smith felt some shame creep up as he voiced his answer.

“I see. Well, I advise that you either buy, or forge an additional ring then, for the next few lessons shall require large amounts of both seidr and runic magic.” “Thank you.”

“Do not worry, I am only doing my duty.”


	16. An unwelcome event

Nidavellir...

Brogr had to briefly close his eyes due to the intense light that blinded him. The main forge of Nidavellir was active once more, raw cosmic energy seeping from the dying star and into the power canals that were constructed around the ring of it.

Inevitably, some of that immense power was diverted towards his station, and the young apprentice watched as that flaming orange beam traveled through the awaiting conducts, before lighting up the heater underneath the metal cauldron.

He peered down into the large container, attentively observing as the bottom of it began to turn a hot red hue, as the beautiful careers and symmetrically shaped uru ingots began to hiss at the contact with the heat, steam rising from them.

It was then that Brogr adverted his gaze, knowing that it could potentially damage his eyes if he were to stare at the melting material too much. 

Beside him, Brokkr and Kramnor analyzed his movements with a critical eye, making sure to see if he was properly following their instructions. The asgardian had to wait now, wait until the uru melted completely and then he could finally do what he wished to do.

The time that it was going to take for this to happen would be noticeably longer than what it otherwise should have. This was because the two master blacksmiths had made sure that this particular smithy only received a fraction of the celestial object's true power. This was done so to replicate the conditions that he would have with his own forge.

Of course, the process would be harder to complete than what it would have been had be used a more potent quantity of the energy.

But for the time being, he would have to simply resign himself and work with the tolls that had been provided to him.

After waiting for nearly twenty minutes, the uru had liquified, and Brogr could continue on with his task. He got behind a cog that was placed next to the container and that controlled its pitch forward.

The young lad gently pushed against the cog: this was perhaps the most delicate part of the entire build, as he had to balance out the speed with which the molten uru would fill the empty cavity of the mold.

If he filled it too quickly, then he would risk breaking the mold with the stark contrast and the abrupt change of temperature which would crack the durable yet fragile stone.  
And similarly, he could not afford to fill the mold too slowly, as the uru would quickly loose its heat, thus rendering it incapable of being worked.

His movements were steady and full with hope, wanting his creation to be perfect, to surpass himself in his skills and become better.

As the last small rivers of molten metal fell into the hole, Brogr moved to stand in front of the mold. He armed himself with a large axle like bar, its end being shaped into a particular set of curled triangles.

When the dwarven runes on the mold began to faintly glow, the asgardian placed the staff into each of the four locked corners of the mold, twisting them until he heard an audible click and a subsequent thump as the locks feel free of the mold and onto the table.

It was looking good, and if he had done everything correctly then now he would be able to finish assembling the weapon. He had already prepared the other things that he would need for his build, and they were placed in an organized manner on the table to his immediate right.

With a heavy metal stake and an equally heavy hammer, Brogr pushed the stake against the round opening of the mold, from which the uru had entered. He slammed the hammer on the top of it, and cracks echoed out onto the surface of the stone object.

He briefly frowned, for he could sense that something was not right: the mold had fractured far too quickly than he had expected, and it worried him some.

Again, he struck the hammer on the cardinal points of the mold, and that was the last action needed for the casing to break completely, to reveal the cooling, red uru blade that was resting in it. 

With a pick, he carved the runes into the uru, muttering seidr enchantments as he did, the rings that he wore on his index fingers glowing brightly.

The handle of the sword fit perfectly, and he secured it under the guard, to then finally lock it in place with a decorative pommel.

It looked breathtaking, and Brogr was proud of himself for what he had created. His two masters came up from behind him, and looked at his creation. 

Kramnor was unsurprisingly the first to comment on his sword. "It looks well forged Brogr, and I must congratulate and praise you on that, for you have done everything that was required to do, and you have executed those steps in an excellent manner."

"There is a problem." Brokkr spoke. He was not one to hide his very blunt honesty, and he thus never made any efforts to sugarcoat his words.

The non royal blacksmith sighed, "But aye, Brokkr is in the right, and I fear that your blade holds a fatal flaw at its core." he brought forward his amulet, letting it glide along the uru as the runes began to glow once more.

Brogr watched, a little worried of what mistake he could have possibly done. Marked in black, there were seemingly some cracks along the sword.

At its outward appearance, it looked to be complete perfect, unblemished by mistakes and errors, but it's weakness was hidden inside.  
"Fuck me..." Brogr quietly cursed under his breath.

It was the mold. The mold was flawed. Kramnor turned to look at him, "What was the mistake that ruined this creation?" he asked. 

"The mold," he began to lament, "the mold wasn't constructed nearly as well as I thought it was." the dwarf nodded, "An astute observation, but structurally speaking, it was fine. Can you tell me what was the real problem?" he pressed further, and the apprentice shifted his foot to the side.

"It was the seidr. The spells and enchantments weren't good enough to correctly enhance the blade, and weakened it instead as a result." he still despised the usage of the magic.

Though he had gotten better at using it, especially since he had forged the secondary ring, he still wasn't proficient enough with it to completely master these final few lessons.

It was this that was holding him back. And it frustrated him to no end. Brokkr must have noticed his disappointment, and simply said: "It was a good effort." which surprised him as the dwarf rarely gave out praises like that.

"But one thing to note Brogr, is the fact that you are getting better at the usage." it was true: with each new trial, he was becoming more comfortable and used to the seidr. Eventually, he would get better with it, and then he would finally obtain his certificate as a graduated apprentice.

Everything else, he knew how to do, whether it be from manually forging to using instruments and other things; it was truly only the seidr that still posed some problems to him.

Brokkr gave the blade to Brogr, as it was his to keep. The asgardian was already aware that he would inevitably examine the sword himself late enduring the day, so he could take further notes on it.

"We are finished for now, but you will have to construct another mold later this afternoon. It must be bigger than this one." he gave the broken object a nod with his head. 

Brogr hummed in thought: "A two handed hammer? A great axe? A greatsword?" "Yes, a greatsword." "Very well then. May I please take my leave." Kramnor gave him a small pat on the shoulder, "If course. Go eat a healthy and nutritious meal. And maybe give those seidr books I have gifted you another read." 

The asgardian lightly bowed to his master. "I shall do so. Until later." "Until later." Brokkr simply raised his hand goodbye, always remaining silent with his signature frown plastered on his face.

Brogr decided to skip out on going to the library, or even simply going to a tavern to see if Grindirt was there to talk. He instead swiftly returned to his rooms and got to work on scrutinizing his failed attempt at making the blade.

That of course meant writing a report in his experience in which he detailed the flaws and possible solutions to correct said flaws. He was slightly off put at falling short once more on the art of magic, but he did not give up yet.

Norns be damned, he would go back to Asgard with those new skills, even if he were to still be stuck on the subject for another three years.

"And to think that so many months have passed... it feels surreal." indeed it did, it had not seemed so, at least to him. But it simply showed how much he had enjoyed his stay here.

He had thought from time to time what it would be like to permanently live on Nidavellir, he would very much want to stay here, away from the cesspool of treachery that was the capital city. He would be more or less free from the iron rule of the Allfather... yes, he would be in his element among other blacksmiths.

But he could not deny that in a way, he did miss being with others of his own race. While the dwarves were peaceful and more respectful than nearly any other asgardian that he had known, there were still differences between him and them, and they were quite noticeable if one stared long enough.

Brogr softly rubbed his bearded chin, thinking about his father. In his last reply, he had been joyous in knowing that he would soon come back to him. And frankly, the apprentice shared the same feelings as his sire.

A knock to the door caught his attention, and it confused him as to who could have possibly come at this hour. It certainly was not Brokkr, or Kramnor: they never contacted him before and after the lessons. Maybe it was Grindirt perhaps? But he too had never come to visit him at his quarters directly.

Still, he opened the heavy metal lid. "I imagined that it was you." he stated upon seeing the person who had come.

Muna chuckled heartily as she stepped into the room. "And that is because I am the bravest in entering the beast's den?" "Mayhaps yes."

"Oh, please make yourself welcome. You can place the coat on the desk over there." she did not move to do so. She actually stayed exactly where she was, still not taking off the heavier layer of clothing.

"I do not intend to stop for long, but I wanted to give you these." she moved the cloak to the side and showed him a couple of large books. His eyes widened at seeing them, "Muna... but these are on seidr and rune magic! And these are advanced spells, they are forbidden scriptures, they are not meant to be read by apprentices! You cannot possibly expect me to use these!"

She rolled her eyes and huffed, "Why must you not seize an opportunity when it presents itself Brogr? Take them, I did this knowing that you have some mild difficulty with the art of seidr." he uncertainly took them from her large hand.

"But... it would not be allowed... I am not allowed to read these. If it were to be found out, I would be immediately stripped of my title of apprenticeship." he muttered, still shocked at what she was doing for him.

"Then don't say anything. No one will ever know; it will be our secret." she winked at him, raising herself back to her full height. "Thank you. Truly, thank you."

"Do not mention it. But do make sure to tell when it is that you will be close to finishing the apprenticeship so that I can come by and retrieve them. And it goes without saying that you should probably place them somewhere hidden. We would want anyone else knowing of this, would we now?" she replied, moving towards the exit.

"Of course. The Norns have blessed me to have met you Muna. Thank you once more." he voiced gratefulness. 

And with a clank, she was out of the room, and away. The young man then turned to look at the pair of tomes that were being held in his arms. This was a lucky event, it really was. 

He placed them on his table after cleaning it of a few other things, and began to read the runes. They were a little cumbersome, as they were sized to fit the palms of a dwarf and not an asgardian, but it did not hinder him much.  
He began to take more notes on the seidr. Whilst these tomes could not grant him instantaneous knowledge and skilled, perfected use of seidr that he so wantonly desired (that would come only with experience) it did help him with some rules of thump and general advice.

It allowed him to understand the ways of magic some more, especially since a few techniques were present, all having to do with gestures and words.  
He would be careful to not use them immediately, for he knew that the two master smiths would notice his sudden increase in proficiency and would suspect of something. But he would put a couple of new small spells here and there, and they would help improve his work, even if by a small margin.

By the time that he had finished copying some of the chapters onto one of his own personal books, he closed both of the tomes and brought them to his bathroom.  
There, he placed them under the sink, making sure that they weren't easily visible. And for precaution, he also placed a towel on the edge of the porcelain structure, so that it partially hid the books. That would hopefully be enough to conceal them to the non observant eye.

"Now then, back to the original task..." he muttered to himself as he opened the books that his masters had given to him.  
Quickly, he flipped the pages over until he reached the point which specified on the types of seidr needed for molds designed for bigger weapons.

"That was smart Brogr. Well done." the asgardian smiled briefly but could not afford to lose his concentration. Brokkr glared at his fellow craftsman, but did not do anything more than that. If he were to make a mistake right now, Kramnor would be to blame.

Those books that Muna had gifted him were proving to be very helpful, and he managed to work in a much clearer way than before. This time, he was sure that the mold would come out as he wished it to be.

His fingers twitched slightly as he continued to utter out the arcane words, the rings on his fingers still glowing as brightly as they always did, and so did the circular lines present on the center of the mold.

Brogr was trembling slightly, for he was beginning to tire with all of the enchanting that was being performed, but he was almost finished. He would need to apply a small number of spells now, and the mold would be finished. 

The apprentice had to resist the urge to wipe the sweat from off his brow, not daring to stop just yet. And a few minutes later, he rested his tired palm against the sides of his tunic, panting lightly from the exhaustion that the seidr had drawn from him.

A simmer of a headache was present in his conscious, banging at the top of his skull and rattling his brain. Brokkr was the first to look at the freshly formed container, softly tracing a hand over the square frame of it.

"Is it good? Have I done well this time?" Brogr asked in between breaths, still not quite relieved of the toll the effort had taken. "That is not for us to say; it is for you to find out." was the not royal dwarf's reply.

"Tomorrow then?" "As we have done today. You may go now Brogr, goodnight." the smith saluted him as the smaller man sauntered off, away from the storage room. The two craftsmen would load the mold onto a rack which would then automatically deposit it next to the smithy that the asgardian would work in on the morrow. Such creations such as these seemingly self autonomous railways were of course courtesy of the dwarves' engineering.

His mind did wonder of how he could perhaps incorporate such intricate and complex machinery into Asgard's city. It would possibly revolutionary, considering that many things would be sped up and perfected to the point that normal people would simply become obsolete... and that would mean that there would be a large group of workless citizens, with nothing else to do... other than maybe enlisting in the army as recruits...

And that was not counting the fact that such new discoveries and breakthroughs would undoubtedly be incorporated into the branches that composed the legions, as to somehow make the empire's might all the more deadly and dangerous.

In the end, if he ever decided to go down this path, then it would lead to the worsening of a reality that was already quite grim for those who weren't born of Æsir parents. He would only further the Allfather's need of conquest and war.   
Brogr banished such thoughts from his mind, mildly terrorized at wha the had been thinking as of late.

He was so shocked that he had to stop by a wall and rest his back against it, having just now understood the gravity of what the usage of Nidavellirian craftsmanship could comport in the hands of ruthless individuals at the head of the golden realm. 

"Lad, are yer alright?" a voice spoke from above him and Brogr looked upwards, staring at the dwarf that had stopped next to him.

He briefly looked away, a little embarrassed at being caught in a moment of internal dispute, "I am. Thank you for trying to help though, that was very kind on your behalf." that still did not erase the concern that was written in the eyes of the older gentleman.

"Do yer need help? Would a healer be needed?" he shook his head no, but was still positively touched by his worry. "Again, thank you, but that I say that that is not needed." "Would yer want me to accompany yer back to yer home?" 

"I... if you really want to then yes, but please, if you have other things to do, then please do proceed with your tasks. I am merely tired, nothing else." he explained as he took a small step to the right moving slightly away.

"I don't have any such tasks of which yer spout of. It does not harm me to care for others in need." the dwarf spoke warmly, easily stepping around and beside him. 

"Well, shall we be off?" "After yer." he offered as he shrunk back a tiny fraction of space. Brogr nodded at him in gratitude and stepped forward, leading the dwarf to his humble quarters.

"Yer live in that sector of the ring?" the towering being asked after some time of traversing through the dwarven city. "Yes, you have a good sight sir. Did you know that? Or was it a well educated guess?" 

"Half and half. I expected yer to live somewhere over these parts of Nidavellir. It is usually where all other races are placed when we offer them hospitality." the asgardian smiled, "Your hospitality is much appreciated and treasured." the other let out a small laugh: "Glad we can be of help to yer." 

Some more time passed as they still kept walking through the busy hallways and shops. "Have yer been here for long asgardian?" "Oh, two years. Almost three to be exact. Call me Brogr if you will, there is no need to speak so formally around me. It is not like I am a lord." 

"Yer speak like one." and the apprentice scoffed in good fashion: "I very much do not." he nearly pouted, "Yer do, and yer are reacting like one right now!" the dwarf rebuked. His voice was a low baritone, that never increased in pitch an volume, appearing thus calm and collected, not noisy as many of his other peers were.

"The name is Skallurn in case yer wanted to know Brogr." he replied shortly after, and the younger man turned to shake his hand.  
"If that is the case, then it is a pleasure to meet you Skallurn." the larger smith shook his opened palm.

"If yer do not mind me intruding in personal affairs and matters, what are yer doing here on Nidavellir?" he gave him a reassuring smirk, "You do not intrude: I am an apprentice, seeking to learn the true ways of smithing."

That seemed to surprise him some, "Oh, and we are yer currently with your lessons?" "Nearly done. I am now practicing with welding and forging with uru using the star's power." he got a small pat on the back, "That is good to hear Brokkr. Yer must be proud of yourself, aren't yer?" "Very much Skallurn."

"And who is yer teacher?" "I have two in actuality: one is king Eitri's brother, Brokkr. The other is- "Kramnor! It's him, isn't it?" Brogr was taken aback by the precision with which he had answered, and was taken even more back at the fact that he had answered correctly.

"Well, yes, but how did you know? I do not think we have ever met before, much less seen each other." he asked, trying to understand how come this friendly giant was aware of who was instructing him. "Kramnor is a good friend of mine Brogr. He had told me on several occasions of this new apprentice of his that he teaches to with Brokkr. I knew that yer were this unnamed apprentice the instance yer said that the king's brother taught you." "Huh..." was his quiet reply.

"I hope he says good things about me?" he tried not to make it sound like a question, but failed all the same. He could not help but wonder what his two instructors honestly thought about him; well, one at the very least. 

"He speaks highly of yer Brogr, says that yer are one of the finest lads he has ever had the pleasure of guiding. That is remarkable praise coming from a teacher like him. And now that I am looking at yer more attentively, I can see that he is damn right." his face blushed slightly at the compliment. 

He was going to continue on with the conversation, but his eyes noticed that they had all but arrived at the hallway from which his quarters were located, "It seems as if we have arrived."

Skallurn was unsure of where exactly he lived, so he squinted his brown orbs, trying to locate his rooms. "There." Brogr pointed to his door as he walked up to it, but did not yet open it.

"Once again Skallurn, thank you for your help, I have appreciated a lot. Do you wish to come in?" he offered, for it was always good to be courteous. The dwarf smiled, revealing a set of shining white teeth, "There isn't any need to. I do not wish to bother you further." "But you have very clearly helped good sir."

Again, he waved off the proposal, "I am good Brogr. And in truth, I am not much in the mood for drinking mead, I simply wanted to make sure that yer arrived home safe and sound." he explained, putting his hands in the wide pockets of his gamberson. 

"Well then, I presume that this is goodbye." "For now." with a final nod, Brogr began to enter, but stopped before fully going inside his room. "Skallurn?" he called out.

"Yes?" the dwarf turned around from the direction in which he was walking. "Could you please satisfy a favor of mine?" "Speak Brogr, I am listening." he stated as he stood there attentively. "If you happen to see Kramnor, would you please give him greetings on my behalf?" the man chuckled. "Of course Brogr, I would be happy to do that."

"Thank you, and until next time." "Until next time."

Wet slaps could be heard from the lone asgardian's room. Brogr was once again cleaning the floor of his quarters, and splashed the large towel inside the bucket of water. He dutifully scrubbed the metal floor, trying also to get the parts of it that were hidden by the large frame of his bed. The dust always accumulated the most under there. 

The apprentice was careful in the way that he swept the floor: he did so in a way that he could still have access to the bathroom, which he planned to use to bathe, once he finished with his current goal. 

He was pleasantly content to see that it had taken him less time today than it had the previous time that he had attempted to clean the room. And with that done, he could now enjoy a little time to himself. 

Brogr was just about to undress his pants when a sudden flurry of knocks where heard from the entrance. "Who could it possibly be right now?" he asked himself, a little exasperated.

"Brogr!" his eyes widened as he recognized Brokkr's voice. He had yelled his name, something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, for he would never speak so loudly.

"Fuck, what has happened?!" he whispered anxiously as he immediately began to put his shoes back on. He cast a glance to the hidden books, making sure that they were not visible. 

Quickly, he ran up to the door, not caring that the floor was still wet and that he was dirtying it, and opened it, looking at a panting Brokkr. He had evidently ran all the way from the royal quarters of the ring to here.

"What is wrong?" he began to ask but was interrupted as his instructor pushed him aside and entered the room, closing the door behind him. "A fleet of asgardian ships has arrived. They are requesting that all asgardians present on this stellar forge be escorted to the transports. And..." he coughed, still winded from the running.

"What? What else?" Brogr asked urgently, "They are calling for you specifically." "What?! Why?! Why is it that they are calling for me? What- he stopped him by grasping him by the shoulders, causing him to wince from the strong grip.

"My brother will explain everything to you, but we must go, and quickly. The einherjar are already beginning to search the ring for you." he nodded, his stomach forming nots. What in the Norns name was happening? 

"Take a cloak, you must not be seen." and Brogr returned one, making sure to cover his face as much as possible.

They were soon traversing through some of the minor hallways. Brokkr used many secret passages and shortcuts to quickly get to the safety of the palace grounds. There were numerous squads of warriors who were patrolling the ways of the gigantic forge. 

They had come dangerously close to discovering them on more than one occasion, and at a point, Brogr was forced to hide inside an empty barrel of mead to remain undetected from their passing. 

"Come, the quarters are not too distant!" Brokkr whispered to him, as they moved across a deserted street and into an alleyway. For being so damn big, the titan ran very quietly, and Brogr was grateful for that perk.

He was just about to go in a short and narrow road, when his teacher's large hand wrapped around his entire torso and pulled him back in the shadows. "Wait." 

Numerous metallic footsteps were heard as a group of golden clad einherjar moved towards their location, having heard a noise.  
Brokkr made a sign to remain quiet, and calmly walked forward, blocking the path of the asgardians.

They were briefly caught of guard, and they immediately fell into their standard battle formation, shields lowered and spears jutting forward. "Halt dwarf!" the captain bellowed out.

Brokkr simply extend his arms outwards, to show that he did not mean harm. "I have no quarrel with you." 

"Identify yourself, dwarf!" there was an undertone of hatred, and it was clear that the asgardian disliked the dwarves very much. "I am Brokkr, brother of king Eitri." he stated coldly.

"What are you doing here? Are you not supposed to be at the dwarf king's side?" the captain was suspicious, and Brogr stilled his breath so that he was deathly silent. 

"And who are you to question me?" he still kept his pitch the same, but the threat was still present. "I am the captain guard of this group of einherjar, I have the authorization and the orders to- "And I am a member of the royal family; at the moment you are questioning me as if I were some common criminal and not the brother of the king, and you are doing so under the roof of my own domain no less." Brokkr ground out.

In that instant, Brogr accidentally pushed a shard of metal that was hanging from the ceiling, it fell and clanked loudly when it reached the ground. 

The einherjar's eyes all snapped towards the street around the corner, the captain stepped forward but was blocked by the dwarf's massive frame.  
"Step aside dwarf." he commanded him.

But Brokkr merely raised an eyebrow, "Why?" "We must investigate that noise." the asgardian tried to shove his way past him but found out that he would have no such luck with moving a solid mass of tempered muscle.

He unsheathed his sword and pointed to upwards, towards his throat, even if it still barely reached the soft tissue of his neck. "I will not repeat myself, move or be slain!" 

Brokkr narrowed his dark pupils, teeth slightly bared: "If you paint this hallway with my blood, you will have attacked Nidavellirian royalty. You would not risk a conflict erupting over my death."

"Asgard's might will trample and crush your pathetic realm dwarf! Nothing can stop the glorious conquest of the Allfather!" the captain shouted, spit flying from his mouth.

"And who will provide your precious god the weapons that he needs to wage war? While it is true that in a global conflict you golden shits would eventually beat us, nothing will ever replace dwarven craftsmanship. And I would dare say that Odin values our forges and knowledge more than he does a struggle with my brother Eitri." the einherjar sputtered out words in an incomprehensible manner, shocked at the audacity of what Brokkr had said, especially in doing so to his face no less.

Behind him, the warriors looked at each other uncertainly, they were fidgeting with their weapons, and the heaviness of the master blacksmith's word settled in their minds.

"You dare to call the Allfather in such a manner?! I will have your head for this insult!!" he bellowed and was about to slash his raised sword forward, but was stopped abruptly when a dark green and black gauntleted hand wrapped its metallic fingers around the captain's wrist with an iron grip.

"You will do no such thing." a grave voice echoed from under the ornate helm of the individual. A crown of short horns lined the sides of the helm, a clear call to resemble queen Hela's own battle helm. 

The newly arrived einherjar was a part of the princesse's legions. The other, lesser einherjar moved back a little, and the captain nearly cowered in fear at the sight of such a terrifying warrior. Compared to the regular asgardian warriors, the queen's legions were much better trained and equipped, outclassing their more numerous brothers in nearly all aspects of warfare except for numbers.

"You heard the prince, stop acting foolishly or I will have you arrested for your idiotic actions. Go patrol the streets down this hall." he threw the captain behind him with such force that it sent him flying and crashing into some of his comrades.

They left without another word.

Brokkr had now been locked in a standstill with the einherjar soldier, both refused to back down. The dwarf could do nothing but stare into the cold, lifeless eye sockets of the helm, incapable of seeing if the man in front of him had even an ounce of emotion in his heart.

"You have my thanks for helping me." the blacksmith stated neutrally. "Your death would bring the empire no good. If you would move prince Brokkr, I must go and return to my legion." 

The taller being stepped to the side, and in doing so also covered Brogr who was still plastered against the wall, keeping quiet. The asgardian proceeded to walk forward, not even sparing the dwarf a single glance.

It was only when he turned around the next corner, and when his footsteps were out of earshot that Brokkr allowed himself to let his guard down.  
"You can come out now." slowly, and carefully, Brogr came to stand beside him after looking both ways of the hall.

"That was risky Brokkr, if that soldier hadn't been there, you would have been killed." his master let out the smallest of puffs of air, "Hewould have been a fool to do so." "He would have done it anyways, you disrespected king Odin's name... that is akin to a capital crime, treason if you wish to call it that."

They moved into another alley, "We are nearly there, a couple more turns and we will be safe and secure, away from prying eyes and ears." "Then let us get there; I am hating this situation."

Luckily for them, they soon reached the royal palace and were quickly ushered inside by a few guards who were stationed at one of the smaller side entrances.

Now they could calmly walk and traverse through the halls without the fear of running straight into a group of the newly arrived warriors.

"Why was it that the einherjar were scared of the green one? Why did they obey?" the dwarf couldn't help but ask, and that surprised Brogr.

"He is a part of a different type of legion, one that is loyal only to queen Hela, you can tell by the coloring, and heavier set of armor that they wear." the other nodded in understanding, waiting for him to continue.

"To put it simply, they are a more advanced version of the regular einherjar, they are better trained... and frankly the gap in skill between the two types would be comparable to that of a recruit, such as myself, and a regular einherjar." "So they hold more power and command then the regular asgardians warrior?"

"In a way, yes: the average einherjar from either the legions of Hel or Heven is theoretically under the control of a normal captain, but in reality, that never happens." Brokkr gave him a confused look, "Because?"

"Under the right circumstances, and especially with the proper equipment, a single one of those einherjar, like the one from back in that hallway, could slaughter up to four groups." the dwarf did not shudder, but a tinge of fearful awe was present: "A single soldier capable of killing thirty two lesser ones... that is discomforting." 

"Yes... I am at least glad to be fighting beside them, and not against." he sighed.  
This entire situation was profoundly worrying him.  
He hadn't felt this nervous since he had been at the war camp in Muspelheim, shortly after the meeting with the queens and the following feast in the castle...

He still shuddered at how uncomfortable it was to be in the presence of their dark seidr... "Is anything wrong?" Brokkr asked, having notice his slight tremor.

"Nothing," he waved his hand, "I am... reflecting, on past memories." "You will have to do so later, we have arrived at my brother's office." the experienced craftsmen announced as the two guards opened the heavy metal doors with a loud groan after giving the prince a nod of respect.

Inside, King Eitri stood next to his desk, reading a paper... message? A letter of some sorts from what it looked it. His face was weary and looked tired. It seemed as if he had aged thirty years from the last time that Brogr had seen him.

He too must have been confused and nervous at the unexpected arrival of the asgardian fleet. He turned around, taking his eyes off the paper to look at them, and they briefly softened a little upon recognizing them.

"Ah, Brogr, it is good to see you well." "Thank you Eitri, you honor me." the king turned to his brother: "Thank you for retrieving him Brokkr. Please be seated, both of you."

His instructor picked up a cup that was standing on the table and poured himself a generous amount of mead, he then offered it to his brother and then did the same with his apprentice, but Brogr shook his head no: it was not the time to be drinking, especially not now.

"What is happening Eitri? Why are there einherjar legions here on Nidavellir?" Brokkr looked eager to know as well, as he still hadn't fully come to understand the facts.

The dwarven king sighed, rubbing his face with the back of his hand.  
"The Allfather is intending to end the war with the Sovereign." 

Brogr's mouth dropped in surprise, "Now?" Eitri nodded, "Yes. I too was shocked upon hearing this much." "The conflict has been going on for a few years, but now it is nearing its climatic and bloody end." 

"Wasn't the war fought on different planets? I thought that it had approached a stalemate..." the dwarf sighed once again, clearly worn down and fatigued by this new slew of information.  
"I fear that Odin was merely biding his time before fully committing to the conflict with those yellow stuck up genetical fuckers. I presume that he was mostly focusing on other conquests."

"Like Muspelheim..." Brogr stated slowly to his own horror. "Yes, or more recently Vanaheim." 

"But what is it will all of this hurry? And more importantly, why have they come to Nidavellir to collect other asgardians? Are the legions not big enough? Are there not enough einherjar?" 

The dwarf king swallowed a gulp of his mead, a pensive look on his face: "It is because the Sovereign homeworld is to be attacked and conquered next. Once the capital falls, the rest of their galactic dominion will follow." Brogr balled his hands into fists, "And they will become colonies." "Or worse, slave worlds."

"But to answer your previous question, the Sovereign are closest to Svartalheim, thus closest to us as well. Princess Aldrif is supposedly leading this final attack whilst her sister has given her command of a dozen or so of her legions." 

"And what about the Goddess of Death?" "She is instead waging war against the nearby Kree planets, or at least it was like that, last I heard."  
Brogr turned to look at Brokkr, "Earlier you had told me that I was being called to come join the fleet." he looked back to Eitri, "Why is it that we are having this conversation then? I am not more important than the other kin of my race, and I am certain that it has nothing to do with the apprenticeship." 

The king nodded at him, "You are correct in stating that. Yes, the captains have come to ask me to retrieve you, but you were a recruit during the conquest of the realm of fire, yes?" Brogr voiced his affirmation.

"It concerned me when I saw that they were asking for you specifically. No offense, but from what I know of Aesir doctrine, the cohorts are viewed as being lesser then dirt." "You have not offended me in anyway." the former soldier responded. "But please continue."

"Have you happened to have done something wrong in the past? Have you broken any laws? Offended a lord or anything of that kind of matter?" Brogr sat back, a frown was tugging at the edges of his face, "No, I have never done anything even remotely treasonous if that is what you are asking."

Eitri nodded, somewhat relieved, "I did not think you did, and it is good to know... but it would reflect badly on Nidavellir as a whole if it were to be revealed that you were responsible, or at the very least guilty of some nefarious deed."

Brogr shook his head, "Again, I have never done anything wrong. I apologize for having you caused worry." but the king held his hand up, "No, do not be sorry, I was in the wrong here."

Brokkr had been sitting quietly, listening the conversation that was happening between his brother and student, he now decided to intervene: "Do you ought to have an idea of why they would want to call for you though?" Brogr thought about it, trying as well to see the logic in these particular and jarring circumstances.

"Well, back when the war had just ended in Muspelheim, and Surtur had been slain by the ruler of Heven, my cohort and I, or at least what remained of us; we were called in a meeting with the queens."

"The goddesses?" "Aye, they had wanted to praise and reward us for our efforts in briefly holding off the fire giant's surprise ambush. And then they asked me to stay, only me." 

Eitri looked troubled: "What did they say?" "They..." he licked his lips, collecting and stopping himself from remembering that day, "they wished to give me a proposal..." he continued. "A proposal? What kind? And what for?"

He sighed, leaning back against his chair, and uselessly holding his arms up as if it would somehow help relieve the room of the heavy tension. "I do not know, they simply told me that they ha dan offer and that they would tell me about it in the future... but they never did." 

"They didn't?" Brokkr asked, "No, shortly after we returned with the legions to Asgard, I waited for nearly a week, and yet not one order came forth. And then I came here to Nidavellir, and studied forging for the past two and a half years."

"Is it possible that they did not contact you?" "I would have known, but in the end... I theorize that they must have simply forgotten about me." Eitri steepled his fingers, closing his eyes, an uneasy look on his face.

"I doubt so Brogr." "Why?" "The princesses are dangerous Brogr... they are ruthless, but also smart and cunning in a terrifying way... I find it unusual for them to simply forget something, even if it might seem trivial compared to their daily tasks and goals..."

"But... it must mean nothing, right? They have not made a single effort to meet me once more, why should they waste more time with me anyways?"

He looked at the asgardian with a grave face: "It is not as simple as that lad. They... they are most likely planning something, and the fact that they have specifically called you in this occasion must not be a coincidence. Something is at play here Brogr." he warned him.

The young smith rubbed his eyes, not wanting to believe what was being told. He had spent a near three years free from the crown's tyranny, he did not want to get dragged in the mess that was his life before arriving at the massive forge. 

"I... that is extremely unlikely Eitri. Take no offense, but what you are saying is complete and utter bullshit. It is not, no... it cannot be, that they have decided now, and only now to contact me!" he slammed his hand on the armrest of the chair.

The dwarven king looked at him with a sad gaze. Brogr pressed his palms against the bridge of his nose, a chocked sob managing to escape from his vocal cords.  
"I... I don't want to fight again... not after what happened in Muspelheim..." a twin set of tears slid down his cheeks, and he coughed, rubbing them away.

"Sorry, that was uncalled for..." "Do not fret Brogr. It is not a weakness to cry." he snorted, "So much for a good soldier... what do my emotional shortcomings make of me then?" he sarcastically and bitterly asked, more to himself than at the two dwarfs.

Brokkr's deep baritone voice seeped from his right: "It proves that you are more than a blind brute, it proves that you feel genuine feelings, and that you do care for what you fight, and for who you kill." 

"Brokkr has the right of it. That is proof enough to me to know that you are not guilty of any crimes Brogr. You simply want a good life, befitting of an even better man." the dwarf king stated politely and softly.

The asgardian sniffled his nose a little, as more tears emerged from his reddening eyes. He was annoyed at the fact that there was seemingly nothing that he could do to stop them, but he did not feel the stinging burn of shame and embarrassment that had otherwise followed him until now.

"Why..." he began to speak, before coughing some more and thumping at his chest, trying to clear his throat: "Why is it that the Norns give us so much pain and suffering in this lifetime? Does it even matter... to be good or not? If the only thing that awaits us in the uncertain future is more pain?"

Eitri sighed staring at his cup as he slowly trailed his thumb over the finely crafted wood, "No one knows Brogr... in the end, we are but wheat in a field, simply waiting to be mowed down by the next civilization come Ragnarok..." he spoke, his gaze seemingly lost in the vastness of eternity.

Brogr was still at it with wiping his tears away, and he reached forward to grasp at one of the glasses as Brokkr poured him some mead. A few sips would'nt hurt. 

"It is ironic..." "What is?" the dwarf set his arms outward, as to indicate everything, maybe even existence itself. "Death."

Brogr frowned, not understanding what it was that the dwarf was saying: "What do you mean?" "Death, death is what gives our existence meaning." 

"You... you praise death? Are you saying that you worship queen Hela?" he asked a little suspiciously.  
Eitri shook his head, "No, do not misunderstand my statement: I mean to say that the awareness of our imminent end is what drives us to be who we are."

"It is the knowledge of knowing that our years are marked, and that with every passing winter we begin to reach our final rest. But that is what gives our lives a purpose, it is what pushes us to strive until our goals have been completed." he drank a little.

"If I was to make an example, let us take you for this instance." he pointed at him, and Brogr raised an eyebrow. "You do not wish to go fight the Sovereign because you fear of ultimately losing your life and succumbing to our mortality. If you had been fully immortal, would you still fear going to battle?" 

"Well no, or at least I do not think so..." "Yes, but tell me Brogr, what are your dreams, your most inner desires?" he looked longingly towards the wall that hoisted several statues of the Nidavellirian kings of times past, "I want to live and die at an old age... surrounded by my family and loved ones. I want to be left to my own affairs, to my own devices. I simply want to live it untainted from a corrupt or tyrannical power..."

"And yet all of that could be stripped away in a flash, and you would never seize the opportunity to do all that, not now, not ever again." "If it is my safety that is on the main- he stopped, suddenly realizing what it was that kingmaker words of wisdom held.

He reflected on his thought, and came to understand what Eitri meant.

"But I would not care for any of it, had the prospect of death been taken away from me." he concluded his speech.  
The king looked at him proudly, and the apprentice could not help but laugh some: "I did not take you for a philosopher." he jested.

"And I do not mean to be recognized as one." "A poet then?" he immediately fired back, and that caused a bark of laughter to free itself from Brokkr's serious demeanor.

Silence followed shortly after, as the three men regained their bearings and composure; the burden of the situation had come back to press on their collective backs and minds.

"I think that it would be best for me to speak with the commanding officers." he started to talk, breaking the mutual quiet.   
"I fear that that is our only viable option in this particular case. Do you wish to do so now?"Eitri asked, gazing intently at him.

Brogr closed his eyes and nodded, already preparing himself for whatever was to come. He had been in these type of situations before, and he had all but grown accustomed to them. Still, it did not take away from his nervousness.

He patiently waited as the king had one of the servants retrieve the asgardians in question. It would only do more harm than good to prolong the inevitable.

Soon, a set of heavy armored boots were heard heading towards the office. He had already stood up from his seat, and was standing slightly behind Brokkr, who himself was standing slightly behind Eitri. It was a formal and traditional way of positioning people given their grade and rank, with the highest or most important person staying at the front, with the least important staying at the back.

At this time, they were arranged on account of their royalty and it was obvious that Brogr was the last in line, as he had no blood ties with the dwarves.

The men who entered were warchiefs, who in their own right were only surpassed by generals. They could control entire legions at will, and w often assigned to be the fleet masters of the accompanying ships, if there were any.

Brogr could tell by their breathtaking armor and eye catching ornaments that they belonged to the house of the Goddess of The Hunt, such were their clothing and colors.

"King Eitri." the man in front, the senior of the small group addressed the dwarf first. "Warchief Bjarni." he nodded back at him.

The man had blue eyes, just like Brogr but were a shade lighter; they immediately noticed him. "Who is this?" "I believe it is your fellow asgardian that you are searching for."

One of the other Warchiefs stepped forth, of slightly lower rank than the previously mentioned Bjarni.  
"Citizen, state your name and position in the standing army, as well as the order you belong to."

Brogr bowed slightly forward, remembering his mannerisms that had been drilled into his psyche by the head trainer Vidkunnsson back at the training grounds.  
"I am Brogr Gerrilsson high warchiefs. I am a recruit and a part of the cohorts belonging to the capital realm of Asgard." the man got closer and grasped his arm, looking and seeing that he missed a finger.

He turned to the others as he let go of the apprentice's limb, "It is him. He matches all of the descriptions." 

Bjarni nodded and approached the shorter man, "Recruit, do you know why it is that we have called for your presence?"

Brogr faked ignorance, to show that he and the two dwarfs hadn't had a previous conversation prior to this meeting. "Under the command of the blessed Queen Aldrif, we are to launch a final attack on the home planet of the cowardly Sovereign." 

Behind him, Brogr felt his fist twitch a little with anxiety, so he calmly closed his other hand over it, trying to still himself from having another nervous breakdown. 

"I mean no offense warchief, but what is it that requires me to attend a direct discussion with you?" "You fought in the conquest of Muspelheim." it wasn't a question, it was a statement. 

"Aye sir." "It has been decided that you are to take command of a freshly formed cohort. Forty new blooded recruits. As a certified warrior, you will have the most experience out of all of them to properly guide them through the hardships that our enemies represent." he spoke clearly.

"And when am I to leave warchief?" he asked, and Bjarni seemed pleased with his straightforwardness and willingness towards compliance. Or at least it looked that way, given that a mask of professional pragmatism was erected immediately after.

"At sundown of the morrow. By then, it is expected that you will have prepared all of the necessary equipment." Eitri intertwined next.

"Warchief Bjarni, you must understand that Brogr is following an apprenticeship. It would be harder for him to continue and finish the course if it were to be interrupted by something as chaotic as- "It does not matter your grace." was Bjarni's stern reply. 

"The blood that he will spill in service for our empire is enough of a reward to sate even the most greedy of men. That is unless you wish to not do so recruit?" he narrowed his eyes at him and Brogr averted his gaze, knowing that the warchief was purposefully testing him.

"I would be honored to die for the Allfather and his righteous cause." it made him want to throw up his lunch, even simply saying those words made him feel nauseous and sick with fever. 

But it was enough to partially convince the einherjar. "Good. Theirfinn, give him the standard." another warchief stepped towards him and present a small badge in his open palm.

Brogr took it into his own had. It was spear crossed with a twin set of wings that curled around it. "That is the symbol worn by all of the empire's warriors who are under the leadership of our eternal goddess's rule. You are to command one of those cohorts, so use this badge to show your alliance to her majesty."

"King Eitri, prince Brokkr, we will take our leave now." and without a further word, they were out of the room, walking out of the massive metal doors.

Brogr gave Eitri a grateful look: "Thank you, for trying to help me." the craftsman gave him a small smile in return, but in truth he was saddened by the incapability to help his brother's apprentice.

"I believe then, that I too shall take my leave, always if that is alright with you Eitri." "Of course. Do you wish for Brokkr to accompany you?" he nodded his head, before ultimately looking at his master. "If you are willing?" the dwarf nodded.

And soon, they were walking back, following the directions that they had previously taken to reach Eitri's palace.

They did not talk much during the talk, for they did not wish to do so in full public, even if the streets were still as quiet and deserted as before.

The two encountered a few einherjar patrols, however this time, they did not have to worry of hiding the young asgardian, for Brogr merely had to show them the standard and were subsequently left alone.

But Brogr did wish to share some words with Brokkr, at least when they arrived back at his rooms.

Once there, he lead him inside. Unfortunately, his quarters did not possess a chair accustomed to fit his size, so he was left standing on his two feet.

"I... wanted to thank you as well Brokkr, for helping me reach your brother's office, and for what you did with that group of einherjar when they had almost gotten a hold of me." the dwarf grunted, but in an understanding manner: "Think nothing of it."

Brogr leaned on his table, his hand skimming over the pages of his personal book. "When I will leave to battle on the morrow, I may never return from the approaching conflict..." he paused, slipping off the two rings and giving them back to the dwarf.

"I will pack a bag with all of my possessions that are not necessary for the war. If I am to not come back from what is to come... please give my father Gerril this... I want to at least give him something of myself. Something that he may remember me bye." 

The prince was understanding, so he nodded his head and briefly spoke, "It will be done Brogr. You need not worry of that." 

"And I wish to give you, both you and Kramnor, but mostly you my gratitude for having taught me more than what I could have ever hoped to achieve on my own. For helping me so much, you have my untold blessings." he held out his hand, and Brokkr shook it, and surprisingly pulled him to him in a soft hug.

Brogr patted his back as best as he could and felt a little better. "Will I see you tomorrow?" "Yes Brogr. I will give you one last goodbye if this is to be the last time we are to hear from each other."

The smith walked back to his desk after having closed the door. He would immediately tell Muna to come get the two tomes. It would be the first thing he would do come the new day.

In terms of what he had to pack, there wasn't much; this was unlike what he had to do when he was back in Asgard.

And speaking of Asgard, he was going to write a letter to his father... he had to know about this new setting, or he risked forever losing him to hurt.

He gently took out the quill out of its compartment, dipped it into the ink pot and began to write down on e blank sheet of paper.

"Father,  
I write to you in great haste and worry, for some new developments and unexpected turn of events have done so that my existence be cursed by the Norns.   
To give you some form of context, I would advise you to read the last letter I sent you once more. The day in which I am writing this message to you, is the day when this sudden and worrying change has occurred. To put it simply, an einherjar fleet is currently docked in the numerous ports of Nidavellir, and now the entire structure is being patrolled. They have come to collect all asgardians, and I hate to be the bearer of news that we are being called into battle once more. This time, we are to go and face the Soverign race in their own home system. It is from my understanding that we are to wipe them out completely, eradicate them so that a new set of colonies might be erected.   
I have been called to serve as the new leader of a cohort of recruits that was formed only a short time ago. This imminent conflict will be smaller in scale compared to that of Muspelheim, and that is likely why you aren't yet hearing it from where you are in Asgard, as is the probability of there not being any kind of global call to recruitment.   
By the time this letter will reach you, I will be long gone in the Sovereign system, once again fighting for my life. It is safe to say that you are most likely fearing for my well being, and I am gladdened by that; the truth is that this will be exactly like last time: I could very well die in the coming days.  
That is not to say that I am not nervous, Norns, I haven't been this anxious since the period of time spent in the realm of fire.  
Father, I know that writing to you in a letter what could possibly be my last message is a foul soul crushing thought, and I wish that I could see you again, one final time at least. But unfortunately, it is by the standing of higher powers that we cannot embrace in the flesh.   
Anyways, as for what ai was saying, I love you father, and if I die, I want you to know that I am happy and proud to have had a man like you guide me through my earliest moments alive.  
Perhaps, I will transcend to the blessed halls of Valhalla, if the Norns grant me the honor to. If I see mother, I will make sure to tell her that you miss her dearly.   
Of course, words cannot express the emotions that I feel, and I am sorry that I cannot show you the full extent of my adoration for you. I hope to at least have given you a sense of peace, if this is my final note.  
With great love and care, goodbye father.

Brogr, your son."

A droplet of water hit the edge of the paper, and the young smith realized that it had come from his eye. Tears were welled up in his blue orbs, and he ha even so invested and concentrate on finishing the composition of the letter that he had not noticed.

He put the quill away, and let the ink dry as he pushed himself away from the desk. Now that he was in the private confines of his own rooms, and especially since he was alone, did Brogr allow himself to wail in distress.

He silently trembled, wrapping his arms around his torso, having only himself to comfort. This was going to be another gamble, like last time. But he could not know if the Norns would favor his life this time around.

The asgardian took a few minutes to placate his raging demons, and he managed to successfully collect himself shortly after. He felt slightly angry at himself for crying.  
He was a man grown, not a boy approaching adulthood! It was not the time to do such things, given the harsh reality that he faced.

But his heart ached and softened at the thought of thinking about his father: the poor man would probably be left devastated at the news of his death.

And then Gerril would be left truly alone, alone in that nest of vipers. Someone had managed to take advantage of his weakened emotional state when his mother had died, if he were to perish as well, the older man would have no one to help him.

But Brogr would rather let his corpse be cursed and eaten by maggots than to bound his father at the cruel claws of ill intended people. He would not let another person like Hlif manipulate him so easily.

Brogr now had another thing to live and fight for: coming back home to his father. He would participate in this war, do what needed to be done, and go back to Asgard. He would have his certificate, and then he would finally be able to do what he wished to do. The shop would be built, and they would enjoy the fruits of his hard work.

Both his father and he had never known of their greater parents, but Brogr would see to it that his children would know of his father. That was what he bowed to himself in that moment.

He was tired of fighting wars that he didn't start, tired of being the bloody meat bags meant to buffer and alleviate the front lines of the enemy. It was time he grew up, and took the reins of his destiny in his own two hands.

Gritting his teeth, the young man grabbed one of his bags that had been settled in the room's closet, and began to pack his things. He put nothing but the barest of essentials, and even then that amounted close to nothing.

The patrolling einherjar were bound to give him armor and weapons, he would use them to his fullest potential. He did not know how to lead, but he would try his damned best to do a fine good job at it.

Maybe it was because of the imminent arrival of battle, or maybe it was caused by the sudden rush of adrenaline that he was experiencing, but in that moment, he did not feel scared.   
He felt angry, furious even.

This would be the last time that the crown meddled in his life. He would be the person that he always wished to be. This conflict was a minor inconvenience right now, he would fight in it, perhaps earn some good loot, and finish his apprenticeship.

The Norns had given him a purpose in life, and that was to be a smith. That was what he wished to do. His life was his to shape, and he would do so as he pleased.

When Brogr concluded his task, he noticed that he did not smell particularly well, and so he decided to do what he previously wanted to accomplish: take a well deserved, and long overdue bath.

The clothes slid off his body, and he was met with the grizzly sight of his scars. Just and hour earlier, he probably would have been scared at their horrendous image; but now, he did not feel so much as an inkling of negativity to it. 

The warm water did little to calm his inner turmoil, he was perhaps acting hysterically at the moment, but the asgardian did not care for it.   
His duty was completed quickly enough, and then it was off to go to his bed.

The following morning would mark a new age in his life, one governed by many dangers and atrocities. He would either live to see his remaining family, or die in the effort of trying to achieve it.  
Brogr calmed himself by taking a few deep breaths, his boiling blow simmering down to a steady flow, as the adrenaline began to leave him.  
That left the exhaustion to take over him, the mental toll and stress having accumulated after a day of unsteady and sudden revelations.

But it at least allowed the tired blacksmith to finally sleep, and lose himself to the silence of Nidavellir.

The next morning, Brogr got up from the comfortable embrace of his mattress. He felt partially numb, at remembering what it was that he had to do, what awaited him eons of miles away across from the Ginnungagap. War, more fighting, more death.

Silently, he adorned his body with a fresh new set of clothes, which ha fervently been cleaned and ironed. The cloth left a good feeling against his skin, a pleasant one he dared to say.

It took him a quarter of an hour or so to pack his belongings in another bag. This would be the one that Brokkr would have to give to his father if he were to be slain. 

He felt slightly foolish for how worked up he had gotten last night, but he wasn't too hard on himself for it. Brogr wasn't in the clearest of mental states, and he knew that. He would have to work and put effort to make sure that his unsteady rage did not get the better of him.

If he had one advantage in going to wage battle against this unknown enemy, it was the fact that he had already tasted the horrors of war. While this following conflict would be by no means easy, he very much doubted that it could somehow compared to what his experience in Muspelheim had been.

These Sovereign were supposedly be capable of travel to other planets... this at least confirmed that they had an ounce of intelligence in them, and that they were not just mindless beings. They at least would hold some kind of simmer of feeling.

They would not go to such brutal and barbaric lengths that the fire demons had. That was what he hoped.

What he intended on doing right now, was to get into contact with Muna. She would need to take the books back, or they could get in serious trouble. So it wasn't surprising that he was already lightly running towards her shop, praying to the Norns that she would be there. 

The streets were not so silent anymore, and there were a number of dwarves who were currently tinkering inside their smithies. That did give him some confidences at the prospect of finding the woman he was looking for, and it spurred him onwards.

Luckily, he did not have to run for much longer; it was partially thanks to the fact that the ring was less busy and crowded than usual given the numerous einherjar groups stalking over every level of the metallic realm, and that he knew the area well enough. And in the end it was Muna herself who found him.

"Brogr!" she exclaimed, moving forward to share a small hug. "I have heard of the news, you are going?" he gave her a wordless nod. "We have to discuss of the matter of what I had gifted you not to long ago." she whispered, aware that it would be wise thing to do given the numerous asgardians.

"I came looking for you to ask you to come back and retrieve them. Shall we go now?" "Yes." no further replies were exchanged as they focused on getting back to his quarters.

She had donned her heavy coat, and that would prove to be the perfect hiding spot to negate the visibility of the tomes. In a manner of the same time, Brogr was back at the start of his short trip, and he quickly ushered Muna inside.

He locked the door to be safe, and directed his legs so that they brought him to his bathroom, "I shall immediately retrieve them." he stated and the woman grunted in approval.

"You have already prepared your bags? But why is this one filled with your books and instruments? I doubt that they would be of much use in a battle." she commented as she looked over his room, which was neatly tidied. 

He spoke from the other room as he gathered the books in his arms, "I do not intend to bring them with me. They are a collection of personal items as you can tell. I plan to have them be given to my father if my death is to come. They will be the last memory of me."

She looked back at him, eyes wide with shock and shame, "I... Brogr, I am sorry, I did not mean to insult you! I only now realize the importance that they have to you!" "Do not worry Muna, I know that you would never do something like that. You were not aware of it. But yes, that is what I plan to do." 

He gave her the heavy tomes. "I fear that this is were our paths diverge." he spoke, looking up at her.  
She shook her head and offered him a smile, tenderly gripping his shoulder: "This is not the end Brogr. The journey ahead is an arduous one, but I know that you will pull through these difficult times. You will manage to, for I believe in you." 

He gave her a smile in return, "You have helped me a lot Muna, since the very first days that I have spent here on Nidavellir. You have given me so much in exchange for nothing. I, I cannot repay you for it."

"Oh, you silly boy, there is no need to. I did it because you are a humble and honest man Brogr. You share our passion of forging so much that I would go as far as to call you one of us." she commented.

Their bond had blossomed over the past two years. But all things came to an end, and now was the time.  
"I will try to not get killed in the field of battle." "And I will send a prayer to the Norns for your well being." 

"I will come visit you at your smithy when I come back." she laughed goodheartedly, "And I'll have a loaf of steaming bread ready for when you do." her reply caused him to chuckle.

And then she was gone. Brogr sat on his bed and laid back, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. Now it was only a matter of waiting until he was to be called. It wouldn't make much sense to go out for nothing: he obviously would not attend the lesson, as it would be detrimental to his readiness. And he would have to be at a moment's notice away to be prepared to immediately march out of the complex and onto one of the fleet's ships.

A set of knocks were heard from the door and he got back up, walking towards it. 

"Grindirt, how nice of you to come see me- he was cut off as the towering man grabbed him into a massive hug, lifting his feet far off the ground.

His strength was immeasurable, and he felt as his spine would break. "Grindirt... Grindirt careful!" he wheezed in between heartbeats. a the dwarf set him down, an apologetic look on his face.

"Eh.... I 'm sorry for having hurt ya lad. I heard yar going away, huh?" he shifted a little, glad that he could properly breathe in the air now.  
"Yes, I'm going to go and fight against the Sovereign, as you most likely know already." he nodded, rubbing a hand against the small of his back.

"Don't worry lad, ya will win against those yellow fuckers, they are a cowardly bunch the lot of them!" he got close to him, "Ya make sure to simply get close to them, they won't fight ya face to face, but once ya introduce their faces to yar axe, they will whimper and shit their pants." he explained, using complicated and elaborate gestures to communicate his advice.

"Thank you for telling me that. I shall treasure it like if it a priceless jewel." the blacksmith laughed heavily, his guffaws bouncing off the steel walls of the room. "Ah... I'll miss yar annoying little mouth! Oh, who else will help me in my quests to get drunk? The tragedy, oh the pain of it!" he wiped a tear away from his eye, and Brogr could not help but laugh alongside him, his boisterous and hearty personality washing over him like a wave did on the rocky outcrops of the lake that overlooked Asgard's bay.

"I will indeed miss you too Grindirt: your lighthearted and joyful presence would keep us happy and content during the approaching times of grim darkness." he told him, patting him on the thigh. 

"I knew it! I knew that inside that cold stoic heart that is in ya, ya still care for simple men like me!" he boasted, "Did you have any doubts about that? You know that I do genuinely care for you Grindirt."

They spent the next hour or so talking about simple things, not of war and death, but of life. Of course, he was ought to having to go away, for he too had different things to settle and matters to attend.

Though his visit did fill Brogr with appreciation and fun, it still did little to lift the heaviness that he felt was draped on top of his shoulders. He was still going to go to war, and hopefully this one would be his last.  
In truth, it was most likely going to be a short lived conflict, given that this would supposedly be the last battle in the clash between the asgardians and sovereign.

It was time later, when the afternoon began to settle, that Brogr received the formal communication of having to go and meet up with the einherjar lieutenants. He had left his rooms unlocked, for he knew that a group of dwarves would come to liberate the quarters of his belongings and free it up. His personal objects would be secured and preserved elsewhere, as he had asked.

The nearer that he got to the external port of Nidavellir, the more and more of his fellow men he found himself walking with. They too carried a simple bag on their shoulders, and many looked as if they would rather be elsewhere; it was a feeling that Brogr could empathize with very well.

He had nearly gotten to the small line of einherjar that stood at the front of docked ships when he heard his name be called from behind him.  
He turned around and immediately spotted the towering figure of Brokkr. In his hands, he held a shield, and a hammer.

His master approached him. "Brokkr, I fancy seeing you here." "I told you that I would give you one last goodbye. And I am dwarf who keeps his word." the smaller man pointed to the objects that he held.

"What are these?" he offered them to his surprised apprentice, "These are custom made so that they may fit your size. Forged with the energy of a dying star, I have blessed them with seidr and rune enchantments." he rapped his knuckles and lightly banged them on the shield, the uru letting out a guttural echo.  
"This shield has been made so that it negates any kind of energy from coming into contact with it, other than seidr." he marveled at the sheer beauty of it: though it was not decorated with symbols or drawings, it looked sturdy and fine in its simplicity.

"The Sovereign are notorious for using energy based weapons, particularly rifles and laser based technology. This should negate all of their effects."  
Brogr lifted the hammer so that he could properly see it, and was pleased to see how well it felt in his hand, which given the fact that it had been made for him, was not surprising. 

This too was scarce in its lavishness, but its elegance came from its lack of gold or particular markings. It was simple, effective and efficient. Exactly the way that Brogr liked things.

"The hammer has been enchanted so that it increases the natural strength of your blows by a noticeable margin. It is devastating at a close range, and I have forged it so that it only be usable by an asgardian." that left him with a question: "What will happen if a non-asgardian were to use it?" the dwarf smirked.

"Nothing, the hammer will not activate its magical properties. But the one who holds it shall experience some unpleasant feelings upon their bodies." he nodded in understanding.

"Do they have a name?" "No, and those are for you to decide Brogr. They are yours to use, and it is your right to name them as you like." "But you made them." he began to protest, "For you, my apprentice."

The younger man sighed, "Thank you Brokkr, it means a lot to me, knowing that you have gone to such great lengths to help me." "They are a token of my trust in you, and by extension, my brother's as well." he spoke. 

"None of the captains will confiscate then from you, they are your property, and these are gifts to you, and to only you. Removing them from your hand would be an insult to Nidavellir, and they would not do that." Brogr wanted to hug him in that moment, such was his appreciation.

"I am speechless, these are phenomenal crafts. I won't be able to wait until I come back to finally finish learning under your guide." "Then we will pray to the Norns so that this conflict lasts a short time."

They shook their hands in one last, final greeting. "I will return Brokkr." the dwarf nodded, "I know you will."

With that, he turned around and left the warm forges of Nidavellir. He left the space that had all but become his home for the last two years, and moved towards the awaiting ships, which were being boarded by the thousands.

Upon reaching the first line of einherjar, he was asked for his name, and surprisingly, he was made to follow a group of the warriors belonging to queen Aldrif.

There, in an unmarked spot of the large metal expanse, stood Bjarni with his second in command and a large slew of accompanying guards.   
"Recruit, it is good that you are here. You remember that you will take command of a cohort upon arrival to the Sovereign system?" "Yes sir." the warchief made a pleased sound.

Unexpectedly, he banged his boot against the hull of the ring. Brogr did not know why he had done so, but was caught off guard when a sudden beam of light enveloped him whole, and he felt his soul being lifted away from Nidavellir.

The rainbow lights and the expanse of the cosmos that he saw were proof enough that this was the Bifrost. They were traveling from one corner of the World Tree to the next.  
A short amount of time later, they landed on a large field, asgardian markings were burned into the pale yellow grass.

Brogr looked around himself, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the gargantuan city that they were in. And it was all on fire, the buildings emitting smoke. An unfathomable numbers of skipsdsrted through the air, engaged in a ruthless battle against other ships whose's design was completely foreign to him.

His mind was further shattered when he noticed the close proximity of a set of planets in the atmosphere. It was as if they were all clustered together. And yet, he could see more and more ships there, and the surface of said planets were tinted red with flames and destruction. 

It was an apocalypse to put it simply.

Even as they walked through the war camp, Brogr could see a near limitless amount of yellow bodies being thrown in large ditches and being set ablaze by a few einherjar. Their burning corpses originated a putrid stench that made him want to gag, but he refrained from doing so.

Many of the einherjar were covered in yellow blood, the blood of the Sovereign. And he noticed with a numb heart that many of these slain were small in stature; they were children, they were slaughtering children Norns sake! 

These were all innocents, people incapable of fighting, and yet they had been butchered like cattle. Warchief Bjarni noticed his staring, and spoke loudly: "Do not feel sorry for these fools recruit. They challenged our queen's will, and that of the emperor. And now they are paying the price of doing so with their lives." 

"I get it warchief, but even their young? They had no say in the actions of the adults." the man stilled and grasped the front of his shirt, pulling him upwards so that his gaze could raze down against his own gaze.

"These children as you call them, are nothing genetically selected animals. They hold no emotions other than their innate arrogance and sense of superiority. It was through their sheer stupidity and ego that they did not recognize the Allfather's merciful offer. They laughed at our empire, as if we were beneath their impeccable beings. Now, they will be exterminated, as they deserve for not bowing to the Goddess of The Hunt. Such are our commands as einherjar, you would do very well to remember that recruit." he hissed out the final part, finally letting him go free.

To say that Brogr felt intimidated would be to tell a lie. The warchief had practically threatened him with the punishment of death, and he was reminded of all the problems and attention that he would have to give to not be prosecuted.

His time with the dwarves had made him forget about all of the dangers that he had to face on a daily cycle. He had gotten too comfortable with the simplicity and safe atmosphere in Nidavellir. It had made him forget.

"I apologize sir, you are right. The will of the crown must be carried out." he bowed his head. Bjarni looked satisfied enough, stalked away, Brogr trailing behind him.

Soon, they were in front of a set of tents. Brogr recognized that they were at the edges of the triquetra shaped base. Exactly like how it had been in Muspelheim.

An einherjar lieutenant was present as well. "Brogr Gerrilsson, as a warchief appointed by the honorable generals of her majesty queen Aldrif, I hereby give you the rank of leader of this band of recruits." with that, he was off, his entourage of guards following closely by.

The lieutenant turned to address Brogr. "I will be expecting daily reports recruit. For now, settle in, and get to learn your new subordinates. You will be placed in active duty starting tomorrow." and then he was left alone with the group of fifty youths.

They were young, just as young as he had been when he had been sent to fight in Muspelheim. They could not have been older than twenty.

They stared at him with neutral expressions, not being so overwhelmingly open, nor closed. He did not know what to make of that.

Brogr cleared his throat, having decided on addressing them before going to set up his tent. "My fellow recruits, it is good to see you all." one finally spoke of up then, from the back: "You are our leader?" "Yes."

He moved towards them and they cleared a path. A couple helped him set up his tent, which drastically reduced the time needed to organize his materials.

Brogr then asked to come and sit down around the small clearing of the space. They formed a circle, all looking at him with varying degrees of warmth.

"Since I am to be your commander, I thought that it was best that we get to know each other. I presume that you have all trained together correct?" he received a few nods. "My name is Brogr, recruits. You can call me like that however you wish, but when being addressed with other officers, please use the term leader." 

And then each recruit introduced themselves, and Brogr scribbled down their names so that he could better remember them. One recruit, Okni, raised his hand to speak.

"Please do talk, there is no need for me to give you permission." "Why is it that you have been chosen to lead us instead of one of our own?" Brogr shrugged his shoulders, "In truth, your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps it was because I have experience..." "You have fought before?" "In the conquest of Muspelheim." that earned him a few awed gasps. 

"You were a leader even then? And if so, what happened to your previous cohort?" he sighed, looking down. He wasn't that much older than them, and yet he was treated as if he were a decorated veteran.

"I was not a leader, and nearly nothing of my cohort remains, safe for maybe ten or so recruits. I... do not know how I will do in leading you. The thought of assuming such a position never crossed my mind."

He steepled his hands. "But I will try my best to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be taking next week off from writing. Happy Christmas.


	17. Chapter 17

Sovereign System, three months later...

Brogr panted as he continued to move forward, dodging past several einherjar as he made his way to the front lines of the battle. 

The main fortress of the capital had been blocked off, its gates closed and barred, its air defenses manned and ready to shoot down an overeager skip.

The Sovereign had bunkered down inside their last bastion, their very last stronghold in an effort to defy the Allfather's rule even now, when all hope was lost.  
This had impeded the legion's march, as they were forced to take cover as well from a barrage of energy shots and a sea of missiles and bombs.

And this had been the situation for the past two weeks. After an unnecessary loss of asgardian lives, the commanding warchiefs and generals decided that it was not worth the effort to waste so many good soldiers in an effort to broker a siege.

The firepower of the dying species was simply too great for them to approach with traditional siege weapons. And thus, arose the need to scout out, weaken and ultimately cripple the Soverign.

Naturally, such a task was given to the cohorts and recruits, for they were less formidable and expendable. That was why the newly appointed leader of the cohort was making his way towards the dug up trench that was lined with einherjar.

He arrived, breathing hard as he had been just recently ordered to approach the front line. There was never silence, for both the attackers and defenders harassed each other with long ranged weaponry: the sound of plasma bolts was a constant presence, coupled with the occasional missile. 

But in truth, the Sovereign were superior to the asgardians in this regard: had the war been limited to simply close ranged combat, then the opposition would have been destroyed and exterminated long ago.

Unfortunately, a sword was no good if it could not reach its enemy.

And that was why the recruits were tasked daily with finding the small breaches and holes, cracks, or whatever other weaknesses were present in the towering walls.

Brogr patiently waited for the last of his group to arrive. He had lost fifteen of these people since assuming command. And their void, empty faces stared at him in his dreams. The blacksmith apprentice would always try his best to protect the young asgardians under his control.

Though they were not too far away age wise, the gap between mentality could not have been bigger: Brogr felt a duty, a duty to have to safeguard these recruits. He... would not tolerate them to experience the horrors of wars that he had. He knew that he would be eaten alive by the guilt of not doing so.

It would kill him.

The barricade of the trench was cruelly made with the fallen and broken debris of nearby buildings. It was a disadvantage that the clearing that surrounded the keep was devoid of any such buildings. That made them easy picks for the enemy snipers and gunners.

"Sir, I am Brogr Gerrilsson, commander of the- "I know who you fucking are, filth." the lieutenant spat, with such venom that it nearly caused him to double back in shock, as if someone had struck a blow to him.

"S-sir?" he rudely and roughly grabbed him, shoving him to the side, towards the western part of the circular trench. "Get on with it you worthless scum!" he roared, none too gentle with his handling.

The recruits followed their leader as Brogr hastily made his way to his destination, already knowing what was expected to of him.   
As they passed, the einherjar would continuously throw them dirty looks, as if they were some sort of plague. But the smith was much used to the treatment, however, a couple of hot headed recruits were not as calm as him.

"Skoll, Hati, come!" he raised his voice, preventing the twin brothers from making any rash and unwise moves. It was curious that the two were named after the mythic wolves that were destined to devour the sun and the moon with the arrival of Ragnarok; but he presumed that it had to do with their bad temper. Out of the entire cohort, they were still the most troublesome, and his mind still could not find a good reason as too why they had even been allowed to graduate at all from the training grounds. 

But there was also to note their blind fanaticism and devotion to Asgard. Perhaps that was why they had become full fledge recruits. The brothers were not only a nuisance during battle: even when in the calm and safety of the war camp, they suspected him of treason, given that Brogr didn't talk about it so often.

He had been forced to face a trial on four separate occasions, with the same charges as always: suspected treachery. Of course, his innocence had been proven all four times, to the point which the officers would merely scoff at what the twins would tell them, no doubt already knowing the way the accusation would inevitably end like it had the previous times.

Unfortunately, there were also a few more recruits who shared their views, and they always presented some kind of resistance to carrying out his orders, bordering on outright disobedience.  
Many a leader would have already swiftly and brutality taken care of this kind of behavior with swift and brutal punishments, but not him... Brogr didn't want to do so. 

In fact, he acted less like a leader, and more as a fellow recruit to them. And that was because he genuinely cared for them.

And it warmed his heart to see that the majority of the twenty five youths were grateful for this... they understood the fact that he valued their lives not because he viewed them as objects, but because he saw them as his equals.  
It went without saying that when other superiors came around, then they would put on a fake act, so as to keep formal relations, as per protocol.

And after lightly jogging for a few minutes, they arrived at the cardinal camp, which faced the western battlements. Here, there were numerous ruins and crumbled towers. They did have some cover thanks to massive hunks of metal and scrap, which would then lead to the towering wall.

Repeated strikes had caused a few breaches, and they were wide enough that a man could slip through and enter the fortress. There, the stationed gun turrets could not turn around, and they were moderately protected from enemy fire by the large ramparts. The mission was clear: they were to enter the den, kill some of their numbers, and then go back out. The process would then be repeated several times by different cohorts.

The ideal situation would have been to have a full battalion breach the stronghold through those openings. That would have ended the conflict once and for all. But it would simply be too arduous: the passages to reach the wall were small, capable of contiamo only a couple of men standing shoulder to shoulder, and that was not taking in account the fact that in some parts, the gap narrowed so that only one person could pass through it at a time.

The imminent outsides of these small paths were subjected to hordes of enemy fire, thus rendering the entire process near useless.

Brogr could not help but spot warchief Bjarni as he stood behind an enclosure of einherjar guards, his pure white stallion being held by the reins behind him. It was impossible to gouge the tall man's state of mind, as he was wearing his helmet; but his head turned slightly to the side to watch Brogr and his cohort get ready to approach the fortress.

He had been lucky that the elite warriors had allowed him access to one of the forges: the smith had been set to work to create and construct a few round shields, which were slightly larger than what the regular einherjar used. He had only been able to make twelve of such shields, as the materials, metals and missing instruments that he had been given could not compare to what he was used to utilize back at Nidavellir.

But he worked nonetheless, trying his best to replicate his own shield which Brokkr had made with the heat of the dying star. Of course it would never compare to his master's craft, but the shields did their jobs well enough, and protected the recruits.

Brogr checked his helmet one last time, and for once, he was grateful of the fact that the einherjar provided them with inferior armor: the typical horned helmets and capes would have proven cumbersome given that they would get tangled and stuck by many jutting metal bars and poles.   
And that would most likely create noise.

He turned around to face his followers, and a good number of them looked to be awfully calm. But the asgardian knew that deep inside, most of them held worry.  
Except (one might have added unsurprisingly) for Skoll, Hati and their lackeys. They had looks of glee and excitement.

"Pak, I want you to remain behind as all times. Understood?" "Yes sir." Pak was the best recruit by far, and he was Brogr's second in command. Though the older recruit was not one to make preferences among followers, he could not deny or ignore the lad's usefulness.

He had spent near endless hours going over plans and strategies, and as such, Pak already knew what it was that they were going to do.  
The leader of the cohort shuffled into the tight path in front of him, broken glass, steel and rock flanking the sides of the road, creating a barrier that blocked them off from the Sovereign's sight.

They moved with good speed, an indication of their experience from doing such a task many times before.  
But it was when they were nearly halfway of the rode when Brogr heard gasps and shouts from half a mile behind them. Startled, the apprentice realized that it came from the asgardian barricade. 

He watched along with his fellow recruits as a group of four horsemen rode past the buildings, yelling wildly, weapons raised high up their heads.

All four were shot down in the blink of an eye as the crackle of the Soverign's guns echoed in the large clearing. But one was still alive: his leg was trapped beneath the dead carcass of the animal, the uru completely broken. Even from where he was looking, Brogr could see the horrendous burn marks that littered the blackened armor of his chest plate. His left arm was entirely gone, as was the hand on his otherwise healthy limb.

A couple of seconds passed before the injured einherjar began to scream in pain at the top of his lungs, emitting a blood curling sound.  
Brogr turned his eyes away from the brutal sight and instead looked at the recruits behind him, who were staring as well through the small openings, many holding pity over the suffering man.

Then, Uthor and Brenga started to move, pushing against the crumbled stone of the makeshift covering. Brogr lunged forward and held them back, pushing them against the opposite wall so that their shoulders hit the edge of the trench. 

"What are you doing?!" he whispered as he gazed at them both. "We have to help him! He is suffering out there!" Brenga, quietly as him began to protest, but Brogr could notice the slight tremor in her voice. She was hiding her fear... and he knew that because he too had done, and still did the same.

"You will be shot and killed by the enemy the instant you step into their line of fire." he ground out, "Then why haven't they killed him?!" out of all of them, Brenga was the youngest, eighteen years was her age. And... she was the most impressionable of the group, the one who had been mentally hit the hardest by the tragedy that was war. 

"They want you to that... they are using him as live bait." he muttered, licking his lips. The other recruits swiveled their heads towards them, then back to the gruesome sight, then back to them once more, torn by the screams of the dying einherjar and the panic that the girl was living through.

"Brenga," Brogr called her gently, his own tears coating the outer edges of his eyes, "This is how Okran, Gera and Hagr died... do not tell me that you have forgotten them?" the girl broke and began to silently weep.

"I-I... want t-to h-he-help hi-m-m..." she hiccuped, and Brogr held her against his body, their respective armors lightly scraping as he did. "It is alright Brenga, do not think of it. There was nothing we could have done, even if we wanted to help him.

He turned towards Uthor, who had composed himself, sniffling his nose slightly, and doing better at keeping his emotions in control.

He gently gave the weeping figure of Brenga to him, "Comfort her, please. And then proceed at the very back of the line. Can you do that?" the younger man nodded, "Yes Brogr." "Good." the leader softly replied.

Just then, they heard a whizzing sound, dozens of them actually. Their senses compelled them to look out to the moaning asgardian, right on time as a wave of arrows pierced him in several parts and all around his being.

The screams stopped instantly as a few recruits gasped in shock. Their own army had killed him. 

Brogr swallowed grimly and faced the line that the cohort had formed in the narrow pathway. "Recruits, we have a mission to complete. What has happened now is a tragedy... but we cannot allow ourselves to be hindered as a result. If you wish for it, we will talk about it later. But presently, we must first make sure that we return alive to do so."

He hated himself for having to push these youths to the brink of their sanity. But he had to do it in order to save them from the worst of the war.

Brogr received a number of ayes as they refocused their attention on him. With a nod, he turned around and began to trek forward, continuing along the trail.  
The smith let out an internal sigh, hoping that there wouldn't be more events such as this one once more.

He had grown close to most of these recruits. He could not afford to lose more of them to the cold embrace of death.

It was a few minutes later that the problems began to arise: there was a space of around fifty feet that was bare to the rest of the world; uncovered, and unprotected.  
Brogr cursed under his breath, this section had not been like this the other day! 

They had alternated between raiding the western and eastern walls that were on the other side of the fortress, and they had gone their yesterday, and had an easier time as the einherjar assaulted the western wall focusing the Soverign attention away. And it seemed that the recent battle had weakened down the already unstable and fragile labyrinth of pathways.

Pak came up to his side to speak to him, "I am afraid that there are no alternative routes for us to take. This is the only way." "Norns damn it! Very well, we shall proceed as always. Pak, you know what we must do." his second in command nodded as Brogr took out his shield, holding it to his side.

"Recruits, I will cross with Pak. You must partner in groups of two with those who have one of the shields that I forged. I will signal from the other side when it is that you may come." he told them from the front.

"Ready?" the lad nodded, "Alright, duck!" he grasped his arm and ran forward, covering him as well with the round object.  
A couple of instants passed, and for a moment, Brogr was stunned; but a hail of energy blasts peppered his shield and impacted the battleground, throwing up shards of rock and debris as well as puffs of dust.

Brogr breather hard as the fire seemed to only increase. Thanks to Brokkr's enchantments, the shield absorbed the energy, but he could still feel the tiny vibrations of the bolts as they rammed against his weapon.

Beside him, Pak continued to keep up the pace, sustaining him as well so that they didn't loose speed. He could see the end of the open trail, just a dozen more feet forward and they would be safe, "Come on! Almost there!" he yelled as his legs sprinted with a boost of adrenaline. 

And then, nothing, the firing stopped. 

Brogr turned to face Pak. "Are you alright?" he asked patting him up and down as the other slide against the wall. "Yes, I am simply winded, nothing else." 

He then looked over at the other side of the path, staring at the crouched and tensed recruits, he held up his hand, ordering the next pair to wait.   
"Pak, I need you to throw a stone out into the clearing, so that I might see what kind of defenses this specific section holds." Brogr instructed the younger asgardian as he looked through a tiny opening, staring up the wall. From where he was looking, it was difficult to make out anything but the towering silhouette of the wall, given that the sun was currently behind it, its light casting a shadow over them.

"I am ready when you are." the second in command stated as he firmly held a large piece of stone with both of his steel clad hands. "Do it."

Pak grunted and launched the rock out in the open, and after a minuscule delay, a new set of deadly rounds obliterated the object and the area around it. 

"Fuck..." the second recruit came next to him, "What did you see?" "Six turrets. Maybe even eight, but definitely six." the other muttered something beneath his breath that had to do with Norns, cowards and bad luck. "I do not know if the shields will be strong enough to resist the onslaught. It is only inevitable that this would just happen to be one of the most heavily guarded portions of that fucking wall." 

"Your shield protect us fine." "Because it was forged on Nidavellir, with quality materials, not the shit that I was given here..." he placed his hands against his helm, struggling to contain his nervousness. "Given our past experiences from the points up ahead, we now that they can resist against four turrets. They will be fine, I am sure of it." Pak tried to be optimistic, but Brogr still did not change his view on the matter.

"There are six this time. Possibly eight. Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he whispered to himself as he got back up to his feet. In that moment, he truly came to despise the Sovereign and their innate arrogance. They were bugs, and the amount of gold colored metal that he kept seeing plastered everywhere was beginning to make him feel nauseous.

"Norns be good..." he gestured to the next two recruits to lower themselves. Taking a final shaky breath, he called them over with a wave of his hand.  
The asgardians sprinted forward as they came under detection of the enemies. 

Brogr gripped his shield in worry as the two were engulfed with energy shots. He prayed that the seidr enchantments who had imbued the shields with would hold up.

They arrived next to them, panting as Brogr reached out to pull the safely to the cover of the wall. "Are you hurt?" "No..." they were still panting, so he tried not to overwhelm them with questions, "The shield? Did you feel anything wrong with it?" he asked, looking over it, searching for damage, and much to his dismay, he found a few dents and emerging fractures. Brogr could not tell how deep they were; the only assurance that he had was the fact that they were small and minor, but still, he did not know how much of it was truly still resistant.

The smith decided not to tell the recruits of this new flaw, at least not for the moment. These companions of his were already nervous about the entire ordeal, after witnessing one of their own die such a painful death.  
It was not like they hadn't killed a living being already; everyone, including Brogr had slain at the very least three Sovereign.   
But they were still people. 

Or at least, Brogr thought about it like that. He still could not gauge what the others (excluding the twins and their group) had to say, or think of the Allfather. He realized long ago that they were still very much loyal to the crown, much more than him for that matter. But he sometimes got the impression that at the least a couple, like Pak, may share his views.

The others moved a bit forward to make room, and Brogr let his arm drop again, indicating the next group to come.   
On and on it went for several times, and it felt as if he was going to loose his senses due to the stress and worry that he kept experiencing. But they all safely made it across.

The smith checked all of the shields, noticing that they presented the similar damage. This was also another concern of worry.   
"Great work, all of you." he briefly praised them as they got into formation. He glanced at Brenga, she looked better now.

"But we cannot allow ourselves to rest, not yet. Know that the hardest part of the journey has been completed. Things will be easier from here on out. That I swear on my father." or at least he hoped that the rest of the trail was the same.

Luckily he had been right in theory, for there were no more abnormal new openings. But the regular ones remained, though they were smaller than the previous part.  
Still, the cracks widened more with each pass of the energy blasts, and Brogr feared for their overall structural stability. They could end up shattering mid pass. And that would spell certain death.

But at the moment, they had arrived at the site of the breached wall. There were five holes, large enough so that a person may have passed through them.  
"Everyone, we shall proceed as normal. I want three shieldmen and all of the archers to come behind me." he received an immediate response as Hati and Skoll came forward, both bearing their shields. Brogr had been adamant in giving them the protective objects, and now he was less pleased than before in knowing that the two were very much capable of doing something extremely foolish. 

"Let this be clear. I want you to listen and obey my every order right now. Insubordination will not be tolerated in this occasion, do you understand me?" he pinned them with a glare and they nodded forcefully.

Slowly, Brogr crept into the grounds of the keep, remaining close to the wall. This was a blind spot, the turrets could not turn to fire on them, but the Sovereign could attack them with their long ranged weapons. He gripped both of his gifts: the shield in one hand, and the hammer in the other.

It was strange, there were no enemies. Brogr was aware that they most likely knew that they were there, but it was curious to see that they did not engage in fighting them. No matter, he turned to stare at the massive supporting bars of yellow colored metal that held up the wall. 

It was right now that Brogr was given a rare opportunity: that of weakening the main line of defense of the Sovereign. With enough effort, they could bring down this part of the wall, massively increasing the gap of the right most breach, which would allow for more and more asgardians to pass through. 

"Skoll, Hati, call for Pak and tell him to bring forth those equipped with the torches, then stand guard with the rest of the cohort." he told them and then turned to address the archers, "I ask of you to make sure that no Sovereign shoots at us. Let loose your arrows need be, and when you see something the you must always let me know of it. Can you do it?" he asked with a much softer tone. 

"Of course Brogr, we will keep this small perimeter secure." "Good."

The torches were special instruments, capable of producing a small, concentrated flame with the power of seidr enchantments. They were excellent for cutting off or welding tighter pieces of metal.

The five recruits all activated them, and awaited further instructions. Brogr led them to the third column that was away from the opening. "Alright, we must break these supports so that the wall may fall. It will take much time and effort; I need you to heat up the external parts of the metal that face the main fortress. Once that is done, I will use my hammer to bend and scrape the flecks of material away. It will be like cutting down a tree." he explained, and the lads understood.

It was four hours later that the final support was being weakened enough that it reached a critical state.  
Brogr kept striking at the metal with all of his strength, using his experience of experience to crush the steel with his blows. But even after constantly heating the material to a bright red glow, and even after using the enchanted weapon, the metal was still slow to give out.

With persistence tough, the support was weakened, all the way until it nearly snapped and broke. That was when Brogr stopped, resisting the urge to remove his helmet and swipe his sweaty forehead.

His arms were cramping, his hands were trembling due to the laborious actions. But it was done: the three columns only require a couple more blows each until they would collapse.   
Brogr had made sure not to completely destroy the supports just yet, lest they be buried alive by a mountain of metal and rubble.   
The night was fast approaching, but their lateness would be forgiven for what was about to happen.

The blacksmith bid the archers and torchers to return back to the trenches path, ordering them to march until the first open part of the trail along with the rest of the cohort. He steadily made his way to the creaking and groaning titanic slabs of steel and prepared himself.

With a long sigh, he raised the hammer with one hand and brought it down hard against the core of the support, which finally broke.

He rushed forward, repeating the action with the other two as well as the ramparts above him began to collapse. The apprentice did not wait to see the effects of his actions: he ran into the trench, holding his shield above his head to protect himself from the falling debris.

A thunderous sound was heard as the ground shook with force at the fall of the mighty wall. Brogr kept running until he reached the back of the cohort, who were very much pleased and happy to see him come back alive.

"Leader! We were worried!" "Brogr, you made it!" and so on, but he waived their talking down with a raise of his hand, wanting to speak himself. "Thank you all, truly. But we must now return to the war camp. We only have the last stretch of land to go across." he looked at Pak who was a few spaces in front of him.

"Pak, you will lead the cohort at the head of the line. I will stand here and guard the end of the snake's tail." he received a nod of respect from his second in command, and soon, they were running over the trail, blocking the blasts of fire with the shields.

Brogr felt another pang of fear at having to repeat this process again. But for the moment, the shields held up against the continuous barrage of shots.   
It went like that for another two times, until they reached the chokepoint from before.

He watched with baited breath as Pak ran forward as the first pair. He successfully arrived at the other end, suffering no injuries. The second pair faired similarly.

But on the fourth run, something went wrong. 

The two recruits had reached the middle of the path when the shield broke, crumbling in the hands of the shocked asgardian. Brogr crossed eyes with the two recruits, before the energy bolts, specifically designed to pierce asgardian armor, light them up.

And they fell to the ground. Dead. 

Brogr closed his eyes, holding back a sob. He instead grit his teeth and spoke: "We have to keep going." 

The next pair went on. Again and again until only a few more were left on his side. "Thorgerd, Klap. You must cross the path." "Yes Brogr." Klap spoke next as he began to ready himself to run over to the other end of the path.

Brenga was next to the smith, and he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We will be fine." he whispered to her, giving her a little shake.

The two recruits in front of them ran forward, hopping over the bodies of their fallen comrades nearly reaching the end.  
But then, the shield broke as well. And a couple more lives were stripped from their ranks. He gripped Brenga to his side, away from the turrets, putting his body over hers.

"We will make it through Brenga. Come let us go." he readied himself, and so did she. They began to sprint and Brogr once more held off the deadly arcs of energy with the uru laden shield, fending off the enemy's fire.

They jumped over the hole ridden body of Thorgerd, finally reaching the end of the path and regrouping with the rest of the cohort.

Brogr received claps on the back, but he could not bring himself to smile, and neither did the majority of the other recruits. They made their way back to the front line, after walking for a few minutes.

He was grim faced, and did not stare back at the einherjar as they whispered insults and curses. Soon, Brogr was stopped by the lieutenant from earlier: "You are late. Extremely late for that matter, did the shit in your smallclothes slow down your speed?" he asked tauntingly.

Brogr briefly looked at him, before replying, "We collapsed a part of the wall. That is why it took us so long to return." he curtly said.

"Took you well more than it should have. Useless band of weaklings..." he cursed them, right at their face. It seemed as if this lieutenant was driven to annoy them to death with his insults.

Behind him, Brogr could feel his recruits starting to get a little uneasy, so he opened his palm behind his back, silently telling them to stand down.  
"Will that be all, lieutenant?" the smith asked, his own patience beginning to wear thin after all of the events that had occurred during the day.

"No, it will not you pathetic worm. The delay of your actions will not be tolerated, and you will be held accountable." the other smugly answered, crossing his arms over his plated chest and adopting a smug grin.

He was enjoying this. There was no doubt about it. "Would you enlighten me as to why lieutenant?" he ground out, his voice becoming slightly more aggressive.  
"Careful scum. Do you forget what is the punishment for attacking an officer of higher rank?" his eyes were glinting, as were his rotten, yellow teeth as they glinted with the final rays of the orbiting star.

"Norns no. Do you take me for a simpleton lieutenant?" "I naturally do you fucking bastard. Your mere existence brings shame on the crown and royal family as a whole. You are not worthy of being called sons of Asgard." he barked, spit flying from his mouth and landing a few inches shy from Brogr's boot.

"No matter, you will be demoted and degraded for this delay." the blacksmith clenched and unclenched his fist, his anger boiling inside him like water did under a powerful flame.   
"Does this request come from the high warchief?" Brogr tilted his head upwards, so that he could try and match the stare of the taller man.

"I was personally assigned you him to this cohort at my back. Did he give you this order?" the lieutenant ground his jaw, no doubt seething with frustration as well.

Surprisingly, it was another einherjar lieutenant who walked forward and grasped the man in front of his by the forearm, holding him back and still.  
"Why are you wasting your time with this damned recruit? We have better things to do than to needless bicker over inferior warriors." the second officer spoke harshly.

The offending soldier gave the cohort's leader one last glare before moving away. The other lieutenant did not give the smith a nod, smile or look. He acted as if he wasn't even there.

With a sigh, Brogr made his way out from the trench, and back to the war camp, passing by the new mass graves and execution camps. Mountains of Sovereign bodies were thrown into the deep pits, filling them up with their sheer numbers. The yellow of their bodies, and the blue of their blood created a sickening contrast of color, which mildly disgusted him.

The sight of slain children did not shock him as it once did. Seeing the same image each and every single day all but guaranteed his unwilling acceptance of the dark reality.  
It did not matter which legion they passed by or crossed, they all whispered harsh and biting remarks against them.

Brogr was used to the treatment, but many of his subordinates weren't. Specifically Skoll and Hati. They were particularly prideful and egocentric.

"All of you, rest and bathe if you can. I will go talk to Warchief Bjarni so that I may question him on something that I need." he informed them as he already began to step away and towards the warchiefs cabin in the inner parts of the war camp.

He first stopped to the legion's lieutenant that looked over the cohort so to report the days happenings, as was needed and expected of him. The elite warrior told him nothing other than a word of praise. He did not exchange words at all. 

The following quarter of an hour was spent traversing the bustling and complex set up of the camp. Brogr was forced to be checked and interrogated by several patrols of guards, and he had to show his standard numerous times to back his claims as truthful.

He could feel the perceived slight that his presence caused in the warriors that lived in this part of the war camp. And at long last, the blacksmith arrived at the warchief's dwelling. 

A few minutes later, and he was ushered in by the high ranking einherjar.  
Brogr did not stop to admire the beautiful interior of the warchief; though it was still baroque and oppressive with its constant and excessive use of gold. 

The man in question was seated on the high chair behind the great metal desk that was immaculately clean. "Recruit Gerrilsson. I was not expecting your arrival." the smith bowed his head as was custom, but did not move forward.

"You may be seated recruit." the einherjar pointed to the only other available seat, which was slightly lowered compared to what was considered the normal height of a chair.  
It was likely constructed so to put the guest sitting in it in an uncomfortable sensation, as the warchief figuratively and literally towered over him.

"What is it that you wish to speak of recruit?" he cleared his throat and held his gaze, "I came to receive permission to use one of the forges once more." 

The older asgardian nodded his head. "You may do so." he bid him to go away with a flick of the hand, and turned to read a scroll that he held open in his palm.  
He noticed that the recruit still hadn't gotten back up from the seat, and held back an annoyed grunt inside of him. "What else?" 

"Sir, I also came to request new and better materials to use in the smithy." "No." he answered simply and decisively. The apprentice stilled his hands, "High warchief, I must insist on the request." "Why, recruit? Why do you need these materials?" 

"With respect, the small skirmish that you held over the western walls the previous day uncovered a part of the path that my cohort takes to harass the fortress' inhabitants. That part comes under the fire of six turrets, and the resulting onslaught is too great in power for my shields to bear." the other looked at him questioningly, "And? You destroyed a small part of the wall. Your equipment is fine as it is." 

"Four of my fellow recruits died today because of the overwhelming attacks. To send us back there, would mean to lose more lives." the older man looked at him confusedly, "And you have, how many left?" 

"Including myself, twenty two." he answered, awaiting to see the warchief's reaction. "It does not seem to be a problem." he replied at once, leading his gaze to the scroll once more.  
Brogr wanted bang his fists on the table and scream at him in anger: he was going to allow the Sovereign to butcher them like sheep; but he restrained his want.

"With respect warchief, the shields will break on the next skirmish. Then more will needlessly perish. I beg of you, with the light of reason, to allow me to use better and stronger materials to create the needed equipment." the senior asgardian pointed his cutting gaze at him, finally putting the piece of parchment away and focusing solely on him.

"Your stubbornness is unnatural recruit. Do I need to tell you why exactly it is that you cannot use the metals?" his voice held a sharp edge, and it was evidently cleared that he was getting angry. "Contrary to what the majority of my colleagues say, I am sure that you and your fellow soldiers are perfectly capable of understanding the reason why."

"I fail to see so." he uttered plainly, though it made the man's fist clenched a small fraction.  
"It is because that metal would be better used elsewhere. On ships perhaps, or on shields for the einherjar legions." "Why not the cohorts?" his eyes darkened at that remark.  
"Have the Norns not made it obvious? They matter, and are formidable warriors. You lot of recruits on the other hand- "Are disposable." he finished for him, earning a surprised look from the warchief, though it was quickly concealed and hidden.

"See? It is not that hard to comprehend the logistical limitations of what you are asking to do." he stated, but his tone held a sliver of mock and condescension to it.

"If that is so, would you please at least order the central western turrets to be attack with arrows, rocks or other weapons? At least to distract the enemy long enough for the remainder of my cohort to pass through the portion of road?" the warchief scoffed, not caring to hide his discontent any longer.

"The situation is the same. It would not be worth the excessive cost of supplies." he chided, before raising an eyebrow, "Why is it that you care so much for these recruits, Gerrilsson?" he asked, "If it is death that worries them, then they need not know of the paradise that awaits them in the eternal feasts of the golden halls of blessed Valhalla." he ground out.

Brogr adverted his gaze, "There are no ways for them to be even remotely banished to the icy glaciers of the depths of Helheim. That is unless they commit some form of treasonous act; but I put my trust that there have been no whispers of such things on the subject?"

"No sir." "Good. And if it is time that you worry about so much, then you will be allowed the day off tomorrow. That should give you ample opportunity to forge the new shields." "With the same materials as before." he reminded in with authority. 

The blacksmith wanted to talk, to rage and shout at the bastard in front of him. But alas, even he knew that no more could be done: the warchief would not hear anymore of these questions and requests.

Picking up on his silence, the warrior continued to half heartedly provoke him, "Are these conditions acceptable? In your opinion, at least." he gave a silent nod. 

"Leave my abode, and return to your cohort's tents. Glory toAsgard." "Glory to Asgard." he replied and bowed, walking away from the unmovable man.

Brogr felt numb as he exited the numerous corridors and strode away. In truth, he was seething at the prospect of these bunch of counts allowing his meager troops to waste their lives. He found that they simply did not care, for they could not offer the same level of accomplishments that the einherjar constantly and regularly provided. 

It was a losing battle in that manner, and he was forced to return defeated from his encounter with warchief Bjarni. Still, the jeers and japes at his expense followed him everywhere, no matter which road or minor path he took.   
After walking for quite some time, mostly due to the numerous checks by the patrolling regiments of guards did he manage to arrive back to what was essentially his home.

A few of the recruits were seated around their small camp's fire. He called for one: "Okni, please gather the others. I must speak to you all." In a matter of a few short minutes, all remaining youths were seated around the campfire.

"I want to start by apologizing to you, my fellow asgardians. I broke your trust and blatantly lied to your collective faces." he began, digging a little as he did.  
Some of them looked at him with indifference, others with confusion, "What do you mean by that?" asked Pak.

"Earlier today, while we were traversing through the trench, I lied to you about the integrity of the shields. It was obvious for me to note the fact that they were damaged... yet I kept quiet and did not tell a single soul about it." his eyes were wet, and he couldn't bring himself to look at them.

Brogr felt dirty, unclean for having acted so dishonestly and selfishly. He had been no better than the officers that he oh so much despised. "Our four fallen would not have received their fates had I used an ounce of good logic. Instead, I treated you not as living beings, but as objects." he brought his hand up to his lips, having to pause knowing that a sob would come out from them if he didn't.

He needed to compose himself first, and after doing so he continued: "I am trying my best to not let you suffer. And today, I failed. And there are no excuses for my previous actions."

"Deserving of forgiveness I am not, but I ask you to please keep my sentiments for you in mind. You do not have to talk to me if you do not wish for it. You may spit at me, insult me however you may like, and will receive no punishment or reprimand for it." he clasped his hands together, "The only good news that I could bring, is the fact that the morrow will be spent resting. Warchief Bjarni has given me permission to use one of the smithies. I will use it to forge a new set of shields. The ones that you currently have are doomed to break upon our next incursion."

"Tis but a small explanation and confit that I may give you, knowing that nothing will allow your lost from returning from the realm of the dead." he kept his gaze on the flames of the fire, avoiding the gazes of the present men and women.

The smith patted his hands and got up, brushing the dust from off his pants. Silence still reigned freely; "I will go and retire for the night. I advise you to as well, but if you do not want to, you will not be forced to. I bid you a good rest." he turned around and walked back to his tent.

Brogr wordlessly stripped down to his small clothes and placed himself under the heavy blankets of the bed, briefly staring up to the desolate ceiling of the tent. 

Upon hearing the flap at the entrance being moved, he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing; recognizing Pak's footsteps.  
The other asgardian silently stripped as well and entered his own humble cot.

There were no sounds in the space, merely sighs and breaths. But after five minutes, he heard the younger recruit shifting himself so that he faced towards him.  
"Brogr, I know that you are awake."

He did not try to hide or ignore his companion, and sat up directly to look at him, "Yes?" "I wanted to discuss, of the things that you said earlier. And what we thought about them." "Oh." was his simple reply as his arms came to limply rest against his thighs.

"We do not blame you for the deaths of the others, not that I know about at least." he began to talk.

The revelation did not necessarily ease the tension in his shoulders, "I... am glad to hear that." the other came to sit up as well, so that they could properly talk.  
"But we did talk about you." he continued, "I suppose that you will tell me about it now, aye?" he asked, briefly tapping his fingertips against the naked skin of his legs in a rapid succession.

"The cohort has agreed that you do mistreat one of its members, by quite a large margin for that fact." he gulped, unknowingly beginning to sweat, "What? I... tell me who it is, please. I shall go apologize immediately at first when the star rises above the horizon, and then I will work to make amends and see that he is treated fairly and equally among the rest of you." Pak did not speak, not initially, but he looked off to the side, no doubt contemplating the next words that he would utter.

"Pak, please, let me know." "That person is you Brogr." he blinked in surprise: "Excuse me, what did you say? Me?" he asked incredulously and the other nodded his head. 

"What... that does not make sense. Pak, I hope that this is a humorless jape- "It is you Brogr. We talked about it, and we realized that in prioritizing our well being, you forget about your own benefits." 

The blacksmith sighed of confusion, focusing his gaze down to the covered floor of the tent, straining to see its details as the interior of the tent is dark.   
"Please do not speak in riddles, and please, do not be ridiculous." he stated.

"Right now, you are doing it again Brogr: you do not look after yourself first and foremost, and that is why you do not realize it yet, or fail to do so." the other voiced his words, resting an elbow on his knee as he leaned slightly forward.

"The other warriors, they all agree on the fact that you are a good leader.You worry for our safety, more than your personal one. But you must also recognize that you cannot take the blame for every unfortunate event that happens... it simply life." he calmly spoke.

Brogr felt as couple of stray tears escape his blue orbs, "It is not. This is war." he replied almost fearfully, seemingly entranced in his own world. "You have noble beliefs leader, but why is it that you care so much for our collective wellbeing." he remained silent, incapable of giving sound to his answer.

Pak waited patiently before testing the waters of his superior's emotions, "It has to do with Muspelheim, right?" it was more of a statement than it was a question.  
The apprentice nodded his head, a nearly unseen movement as the dark covered his body.

"Yes... what I lived there, I will never forget for the rest of my years. It is not something that I would hope to subject anyone to." he spoke quietly, as the other man eagerly listened.  
"Some parts of me were wounded on those ash filled battle grounds. And that is not counting the physical scars that are left. Pak, after fighting in that war... nothing will ever be the same for me. I will never be able to let go of the demons that persist." 

"You, did not tell us about this on the day that we first met, those months ago." he stated, recalling his stories and retelling did his experiences, "It was a personal decision, and I was not upheld to talk to you about my intimate thoughts and emotions." he replied aggressively, which caught the other off guard.

"I-I'm sorry... that was unacceptable." he began to apologize only to be silenced as his second in command came to sit beside him on the bed, wrapping a single arm around his back. "Have no worries, I was prodding in your personal feelings. I was at fault."

"I... I do not wish for you to live my same experiences. While, this conflict is less arduous and horrifying compared to the conquest of the fire giants... it has its own set of damnations and nightmares." "Like?" the other asked.

"For one: the Sovereign are living, breathing creatures... not mindless servants like the fire demons... I do not know how that affects you in the head. By the time that I was sent to fight, our ages were not much different... but I am still haunted by what I have witnessed during those past times." he monologued numbly, not yet pushing his comrade's arm off as it was slightly intruding in his space.

"And we understand that Brogr, truly, we do. But you need not worry so much about us. We can take care of ourselves well enough." and that nearly made him scoff with cold laughter: "Brenga certainly can't, and neither can Uthor." he stated.

"They are young." "So are the rest of you. Do you want to know how it is that I can tell?" he asked, finally standing up. "How?" "Because I wasn't capable. And I barely am now." Brogr sighed once more.

"While it warms me to know that you think so kindly of my health, I must ask you to please take no mind of it. I am perfectly fine as I am." the younger recruit stared at him unconvinced, or it seemed to be that way, given that the blacksmith still couldn't properly make out his face. "That is a lie, and you know it."

"Pak, there must be someone who has to necessarily carry this burden. It is not an easy weight, less even an enjoyable one, but someone has to, it is simply like that." "But why?" he kept insisting, "Why must you forsake your wellbeing so much?"

"So that you don't have to. Pak, you and the others have barely entered adulthood. I, am still scarred, and what I do now is what is needed so that you may not suffer the consequences that I have. You have your entire lives in front of you... I have mostly lost all of my opportunities for a peaceful existence." 

"Brogr, you are the one who is not making any sense right now: that doesn't mean anything, and... and, I am sorry to say this but I fail to see your point." he spoke, "In the same way that I attempt to neglect yours, except that you cannot, for you genuinely cannot know. And I want it so that it remains that way. Doing what I do, it is my way of repenting for my sins. You should not worry so much about me."

Pak sighed, almost getting frustrated, "Brogr, you do not have to feel pressured in doing so, and as things are, I cannot expect to fully understand your ways." 

"Can I... tell you something?" he asked, "Please, I will listen to you." the other replied.  
"I, personally do not think that this war was necessary." he finally whispered out, knowing that this was an extremely risky set of words to say.

"In what way? I still fail to under- "I do not think that the Allfather had the good right, or cause to wage war against the Sovereign, I think that he has decided to do so not because he is the protector of the ten realms, but because he is exceedingly greedy and power hungry." he concluded as the younger lad remained agape at his confession.

"You are speaking words of treason... they would be enough to warrant an execution." "I know." he sat back down on the bed.  
"And I know that it would be wrong for my own safety. But I cannot stand idly by as that vicious fucker pillages, ravages and conquers his way to the dominion of all creation. What the crown stands for is not honor but hypocrisy." he spat out, his rage finally letting loose out of his control.

"Tell me Pak, did the refusal of the Sovereign to bend to Asgard's power warrant such a massacre; to cause the extinction of their race? Do you think that their children, their most innocent citizens deserve the fate of being mercilessly slaughtered?" he nearly shouted but made an effort to keep his voice low.

"And yet everyone can never shut their filthy mouths about how the rule of the Aesir is prosperous, how Odin is a benevolent ruler who fosters peace above else. But we, people like you and me, and the other recruits from all over the empire; we are treated unjustly." "You cannot mean-"I do mean it Pak! I mean everything that I am saying! Do you even realize what it is that these einherjar force us to do?! We are nothing but bait! We will be killed because we are expendable. I am sure that you must have noticed the cultural divide from the training camps of Svartalheim." he pointedly asked, as the other lowered his gaze.

"And for that matter, it is worse in battle! I can understand the conquest of Muspelheim, that yes with Ragnarok and all of that mess... but this? This is naught but cruelty." he hoarsely spoke, still seething with his pent up emotions.

"This final siege on the last fortress of the Sovereign is useless! If the royals were so desperate to end the high priestess's life, then they would batter those fucking gates away like nothing, they would come down on the remaining Sovereign with the fury that those prancing fools claim to have!" he barked out.

"Norns, queen Aldrif would no doubt be enough to overcome those walls! With the Twilight Sword she would be able to singlehandedly destroy that entire fortification, that is how powerful she is! But no, instead, we have to continually wait and wear them down as I lose more and more of the youths that I swore to protect." his voice was cracking now.

"Last I heard, she was on one of the nearby planets of the System, culling the final resistances. But that is a lie, it is all a lie... I guarantee you that she is slaying the innocents, even babes... and she is enjoying it, doing it slowly... or she would have already arrived here at the local war camp and have ended this bloody conflict." 

He began to lightly cry, "It's all a lie... all of it... there are hundreds of realms which have no other function than being slave worlds... the entire monarchy will stop at nothing to expand its wealth and influence... Queen Hela is on the other side of the Yggdrasil, over the Ginnungagap, waging war after war, after fucking war against the Kree... I know this because an ambassadorial fleet came to try and broker an alliance with king Eitri on Nidavellir."

He sat down on the grind, placing his head in his hands, "I cannot do this anymore... it was never supposed to be like this... I should be working in a smithy, not fighting a coward's conflict..." he whispered out, feeling tired after going on the long rant for much time.

Pak stood up to his feet next to him, not knowing what to do. His first instinct was to immediately go and report this confession to their parent legion's lieutenant, but he could not bring himself to do it after Brogr spoke about the harsh truths and realities that the Asgardian empire hid under the farce that was an honorable cause.   
He, felt conflicted for the first time in his life, regarding the righteousness of the golden realm, and he could not deny his cohort's leader's claims.

And he was a veteran from the Conquest of Muspelheim. If what he said was true, then the leading monarch of his realm, Queen Aldrif, would have undoubtedly have had no problems or setbacks after slaying the mighty Surtur, on the valleys of his own fiery realm no less. 

"Go on. I will not hold it against you if you turn me in. You will be promoted to my rank... and you are worthy of it Pak, much more than I am or ever was..." the apprentice turned soldier weakly stated, evidently falling back into slumber, clearly exhausted from his rant.

But it was also true that he had show nothing but good intentions towards him and many of the other recruits. He had actively worked to see that they were treated fairly as the rest of the attacking army, even at the risk of his own position. Na she tried to keep them safe, and each and every one of the losses weighed heavily on him; more so than in them, who had known these dead people for far longer.  
It gave him a perspective of his world, his own point of view, and it made Pak realize how selfish they were compared to Brogr. He was truly a suffering soul, and yet was treated unjustly by a class of rule which actively despised individuals like him.

And now, he had openly admitted to being contrary to the beliefs and purposes preached by the nobles under the guidance of the descendants of the Allfather Bor. He was sealing his fate in Pak's hands, his life or death would depend on his next actions.

In that moment, he heard some rustling from outside, besides the tent. Alert, the second in command of the cohort silently moved to the opening and looked outside, seeing no one. For security, he tightly tied the flap shut, essentially closing them off from the rest of the war camp.

He looked back to Brogr, and saw that he had fallen asleep on the floor, breathing quite shallowly. Having made up his mind, he got closer to him and grabbed him by the arm, positioning it around his shoulders. With his other hand, he grasped his back, huffed and raised him upwards.

Pak was lucky that the smith was indeed shorter than average in height, for it made him slightly easier to move around, even if he still weighted noticeably for his otherwise short stature. He placed him in the confines of his bed and returned to his own cot. He had made his decision.

The next morning he was surprised to see that Brogr hadn't awakened earlier than he had; usually, he was always the first to be ready and dressed for the day. It was naturally one of the responsibilities of being the leader of the cohort.

Instead, he found the older recruit still bundled up under the covers of the simple bed. Exactly in the same position that he had placed him in. He had not moved one bit during the entire night, and that had surprised him.

In fact, if he focused on looking at him closely enough now that there was some light, he could notice the light sheen of sweat that coated his face. Confused, Pak placed his open and dry palm on his forehead and nearly jumped in shock: he was scalding hot, a fever had taken to him.

The second in command quickly finished dressing and stood over Brogr. This was a rare case, but seeing as the smith was in no condition to lead, his duty fell on two him, being the next in pecking order. Lightly, he shook him, and he opened his blue eyes, looking around until they focused on him.

"Pak? What happened?" he asked weakly, voice dry and meek. A groan escaped him next, and he brought a hand up to touch his temple. "How do you feel?" 

"Tired." the other answered as he began to get up by throwing the sheets to the side and raising his torso, but was steadily pushed back down by the other recruit. "Stay down Brogr. You have a fever." it was an imperative statement, so much so that when Pak saw that the sick soldier opened his mouth to retort, he beat him to it: "I did not need a healer to realize it. Stay down, I will go out and get a healer to verify your current state. I will lead over the matters this day, alright." 

Brogr groaned once more, not liking his condition at all, "Fine. Make sure to notify me on anything and everything though." the other remained serious, "Only when you get better." and he quickly moved out of the tent, stepping into the chilly wind that greeted him to the sight of the bustling war camp. 

He closed the flap once more, so that none of the wind could enter the tent, and also to nearly soundproof Brogr's protest at his most recent action. Turing around, Pak saw that a few of his companions had already gotten up, and where comfortably dressed in their normal clothes, and not the heavy set of plated armor that they were common wearing.

Pak gave a nod of good morning to Brenga, who returned it with one of her own; but glared at Skoll and Hati, for they two were looking at him distrustfully. He began to move from tent to tent, softly calling out the inhabitants and urging them to get ready, for he had an announcement to make.

He collected Okni, Uthor, Udrid and a few others, and made it so that they gathered around the spent fire at the center of the small clearing. Most of the recruits immediately noticed the absence of their leader, which was quite evident considering the fact that he had never skipped a morning reunion, except for today. 

"Where is Brogr?" "Is something wrong with him?" "What happened?" they were already beginning to whisper amongst themselves, turning to look at each other as they did. Pak quickly ended such noises with his authoritarian voice: "All of you, keep quiet. Now, I know that most of you have noticed that Brogr is not currently present, and that is because he has fallen ill during the night. I fear that the stress of witnessing the death of four of our friended has taken a heavy toll both on his mind and soul."

"For that reason, I have obviously temporarily taken command as the leader of our cohort, until he fully heals. He gave you the day off last afternoon, and as such I won't change it." that caused a few of the recruits to eagerly nod and smile, but then one of them spoke out: "Will you lead us into battle tomorrow then?" 

Pak, closed his eyes briefly, realizing that there was a very good probability that he would have to do just that, unless Brogr made a miraculous recovery in less than a day; "I am afraid so. For the moment, I will go look to send a healer to Brogr, so that they may properly verify and testify of his fever. That will be needed so that I may go report to the lieutenant in regards of what to do, and in case of eventual changes to our schedule." some lads had raised their hands, so he signaled to one to start speaking: "Will we be able to visit Brogr?"

"It depends on what the healer shall say. If they advise quiet and tranquility, then it would be obviously best to let him rest as comfortably as possible. Of course, if he is in good enough condition to properly talk and accept you of visitors, I would still advise you to not overwhelm him." he spoke, and the recruit who had asked the question nodded in understanding.

"Good. I hope you all have a good day then, and please remember to not cause ruckus or anything of that sort. I shall return shortly." he concluded and bid them to go away and do what it was that they wished to do.

He briefly stopped besides one of his fellow recruits, "Gavna, would you mind getting me a portion of eggs and bread for the morning meal?" he asked and she responded in kind: "Of course Pak. Do you want anything else with it? And what kind of beverage would you like as well?" "That will be it, and water will be fine. Thank you." "Do not mention it." he flashed her a smile, and so did she.

With that he went towards the designated barracks of their accompanying legion. The einherjar had a few stone building to themselves, instead of tents. And they were filled with proper beds and furniture, and it was without a doubt that they even had a hearth: he could see the plumes of smoke from the fire soar high into the dark blue sky.

The posted guards let him pass, having recognized him as the second in command, so he asked the first warrior that he saw walking around: "Excuse me, I was looking for your legion's lieutenant, could you please tell me where he is?" he hoped that he had not already left for the central keep of the war camp, or then Pak would have been forced to walk for a much longer time.

The einherjar in front of him held a barely contained sneer, "What is it that you want?" "I have to report to him." he unsheathed his sword and pointed it at him, as another four warriors came to circle around him.

"You are not the cohort's leader, where is he?" he asked loudly, and the recruit had to hold in his annoyance, "He is unwell. That is why I have come to report to the lieutenant. With the good grace of Asgard, will you please let me pass? I am in need of a healer." he explained as the other stepped away.

"Dumb fucker. You could have simply said that from the very beginning, and I would have let you go." he muttered something else that was too quiet for Pak to understand, but he moved away. "He is in the central hall." one of the einherjar called out from behind, and so he directed his steps towards the building.

After a few flights of stairs, he stood in front of the lieutenant's door, waiting to be admitted in by the high ranked asgardians. The pair of guards placed on each end of the hallway stared at him uncannily. Finally, the door opened, and the lieutenant beckoned him in, decked in his pristine armor. They sat down in their respective seats.

"I have many a matter to address, so keep your report short." the man coldly instructed him, and so Pak did as he was told: "My cohort's leader Brogr Gerrilsson has fallen ill during the night. I came to report this and to request a healer so that my words may be acknowledged as true." "Your request is granted, now leave." he commanded and the other gave a slight bow of the head.

That had happened very quickly to be honest, far sooner than he was expecting. And to his utter surprise and shock, he found a healer waiting for him at the entrance of the large building.

"Good morning sir. You are the healer that will check on my cohort's leader correct?" the thin man looked at him spitefully, before speaking: "Will you lead me to him or what? He won't magically heal from his ailment." he sarcastically said.

"Please follow me." answered Pak. He had already decided that he did not like this einherjar; and much to his dismay, he frequently insulted the usefulness of the recruits and cohorts in general. That was why he quickly lead him to their tents, and allowed him to enter. "Stay out here, I require silence and concentration." 

He wanted to scoff at that statement: he knew for a fact that it was a lie. But he did want to delay his analysis any longer, and so he let him do his job. 

Roughly five minutes later, the healer exited the tent, still glaring at him. "Who is he?"   
"Your leader has a fever." he answered shortly, "I know that, but how is he physically." he stepped in front of the man. "He needs to rest for another three or hour days. Feed him four times a day, and he will be cured of the sickness he concluded shortly, stepping away.

As he was walking, Pak noticed a line figure which was staring at the tent. From his beautiful armor and elaborate decorations, he could tell that this was one of Queen Aldrif's elite einherjar, may-haps even one of her royal guard legions. But the unknown individual slithered away with such speed and grace that should have been impossible given the bulk of the armor. 

The young lad did not have the time to call him or do something else. Shaking his head, he moved towards Gavna's tent, and called her name. The woman came out holding a plate of freshly cooked eggs, and handed them to him.  
"How is Brogr?" she asked with mild concern, "The healer said that he needs to rest more, but other than that, he is fine." she raised an eyebrow to him, "He did not say anything else?" 

"Well, he was not the nicest or most talkative person I have had the experience of dealing with." he confessed, "Oh, please tell the others of this. I will be with Brogr in case you need me." and with that, he was off one final time.

Pak was not surprised to find the blacksmith awake in his bed, "Did you sleep after I left?" the other looked at him with an unreadable expression: "Unfortunately, no. But at least the Norns saw it that this fewer isn't so horrible." "The healer?" "An asshole." and he smiled at his remark.

"Do you want anything?" "No." "You are supposed to eat." he reminded him of the words that the healer most likely had already told him. "And I am not hungry." "Very well then." 

It was not long after that he finished breaking his fast, and Brogr began to ask him about what the lieutenant had said, to which Pak recounted the past conversations.

"On the morrow... you know what to do, yes?" the ill man asked him, looking at him in the eyes. "Yes, I will adopt the same strategy." but the other shook his head.

"No. I cannot make the new shields. Use mine to go back and forth between the gaps in the path. Do not use the faulty ones unless necessary." he told him seriously, and Pak knew that he was putting a lot of trust in him. "Do not worry I will." 

"Good. I will sleep some more if you do not mind." Brogr concluded as he began to close his blue orbs already, and the younger recruit exited the tent.

He turned and stopped just before he walked straight into a solid wall of enchanted steel and uru. The asgardian had nearly had a heart attack from the sudden appearance of the elite einherjar guard. How in the Norns' name did he move so silently?!

With a quick look at the individual, Pak realized that this was the same einherjar that he had seen before when the healer left.

"Sir." he addressed him with respect, "Do you need something?" "I must speak with the leader of the cohort." "He is currently unavailable as he is racked with fever. You may tell me." "It is classified information recruit. My orders are to speak with Brogr Gerrilsson." the warrior said unfalteringly.

"By whom?" "It is none of your concern." with that he stepped forward and entered the small space. Pak followed him, wanting to pull him back but the man had already alerted Brogr.  
The smith looked at him after detaching his eyes from his menacing form: "Pak, would you please leave the two of us to freely converse in private?" he nodded his head, tough he was still unsure about leaving his leader alone with this elite. "Thank you."

Once they were alone, Brogr looked at the einherjar. "What is it that you want?" he asked sullenly, "I have been ordered to tell you that you and the cohort have been given the rest of the week to yourselves." that shocked him: "Wait, so we will not go into battle?" he asked almost uncertainly and the other answered in affermative. 

That confused him some, so he called out to the leaving guard: "Before you go, who sent you to speak to me?" he already had an idea of who it could have been, but he prayed to the Norns that it wasn't who he thought it was. "That I cannot say." was the einherjar's simple reply as he left the tent.

Soon after, Pak entered the enclosed space, "Are you alright?" "Yes... he came to tell me that we shan't see conflict for the next week or so." that left the second in command shocked as well.

"But why?" "Norns, I do not know, and frankly I am not willing to solve this mystery at the moment. I will try to resume my slumber. Will you please tell the others about this?" "Of course, sleep well." "Thank you." and finally, he was alone once more, promptly fell back to calm, tranquil hold of simple rest.

Three weeks later...

"Your brother was a fucking cunt, and I am glad that he perished the way that he did." Brogr hissed out as he sneered towards Hati.   
The venomous words that his mouth growled out were sharpened with hate and ruthlessness, they were meant to hurt, to cut deeply in one's feeling.

Normally, the blacksmith would never have even fought of talking in such a manner to one of his recruits. But he had been pushed far beyond even the limits of his tempered patience; that was why he was speaking the way he was at the moment.  
"I shall never forget the way that he squealed like a pig about to be gutted by a rusty knife. If I could, I would send him to death myself."

The younger recruit met his fierce snarl with one of his own, refusing to back down from the confrontation. That was what drove Brogr insane at the moment: this idiot's foolhardiness and thick skull.

The day had not been that different from the rest: his cohort was given the usual orders of scouting and weakening the defenses of the Sovereign. They had to traverse over that part of the trench once more, having to come under more overwhelming fire power again. 

In these past times, Brogr had taken to creating several spare shields; more or less resigned to the fate that his cohort had been condemned to. Naturally, he simply could not make enough, and more of his recruits, the young men and women that he had been given command of, died.

They were down to ten recruits now, and the situation still did not alleviate itself. But it was on this cycle, that everything had gone wrong: Pak and him had devised a new strategy, one that would require the use of his blessed Nidavellirian object.

His second officer would run back and forth with the specially enhanced hunk of uru, as he would be more energetic than the smith. And it was true considering the fact that he spent the majority of the day fighting and eventually killing the enemies.

It was on that point that the problems arose: even now, Brogr still could not understand (no matter how hard he tried) what it was that pushed Skoll to run after Pak.  
The lad was escorting Brenga, and all of a sudden, one of the two twins took off after him, devoid of companions.  
When the inferior shield broke, Skoll tackled Pak to the floor, and covered himself with the uru one.

In less than the blink of an eye, the two were gone; the steel plates melted by the energy shots and their flesh charred and burnt to a crisp due to the intensity and heat of said projectiles.  
Hati had in the meantime run forward as well, and for the second time in that minute, Brogr's orders had gone unheard and worst, broken.

In the chaos that ensued, the second twin's shield broke as well, and the other gave him the magical weapon, as he too perished. The leader of the cohort had nearly punched the younger asgardian when he came back to his side to return the item that rightfully belonged to him.   
And Brogr had seen red for most of the remainder of time. Okni and Uthor had died next. And thus another five had perished on this day.

The twins had disobeyed his command, and as such, he was now bearing down all of his rage stricken wrath that had formed as a result of those actions.  
"From this moment onwards, you will be exiled from this cohort. You are no longer welcome to be my subservient. Pack your bags and leave, and may the Norns curse your family and blood line." he practically roared, shoving him away from the front of his tent.

The remaining recruits all tended up fearfully, having never seen their leader in such a state. They were already morally strained from the loss of so many comrades, but Brogr's antics were not helping at the moment.  
"GO! LEAVE AND NEVER COME BACK!" 

The fiery youth looked at him with hatred and mistrust one last time, before turning on his heel and marching towards his own abode.  
Brogr sighed as he rubbed his hands over his face.

Norns, he was tired of this war. He still had not registered the shock of loosing Pak. This reality was cruel: he had been stripped of yet another seemingly close friend. The gaping and scathing wound would accompany that of the memory of Beigarth.

The apprentice already knew that he would have nightmares come dark. It seemed as if this planet was going to indeed rival his experience in Muspelheim. Dark circles adorned his eyes, along with heavy bags under them. He had not slept well in the last fortnight or so. And it had taken both its physical and emotional toll on him.

"For the rest of you, I..." he stopped talking, his breath suddenly hitching as he realized that he once again found himself in the same conditions that his previous cohort had. Their numbers were nearly the same!

"I... take the rest of the daylight to rest. Talk with each other need be... try, to comfort yourselves. I need some time to myself." it was all that he could say before rushing back to the security of his tent. His crippled and damaged walls broke then, letting him release his anguish for losing so many of the recruits.

He had tried, oh, Norns how he had tried... to harden his heart, to convince himself not to form close attachments to these people.  
And yet, he could not stop himself from doing so. And now he suffered.

Pak... was supposed to still be alive. Poor, sweet Brenga had seen the life vanish from her car too soon; she was the youngest of them, had so much to still see and do in this realm... Okni, Uthor, both good, serious hardworking lads. They would never see their families once more.

And all of this was because Brogr couldn't properly reign in one shit-licking fucker. He did mean his words towards Hati. Had it not been for his twin brother's rash decision, the other four would still be with them.  
And the apprentice still could not stop himself from thinking about the situation over and over again, the memory of it branded deeply into his consciousness.

He had to... he could not breathe... and so he shot up from the ground and nearly barreled through the flap of the tent. Brogr tried to calm himself down, thinking about the things that he liked the most, that he liked doing. The actions and comforts that helped him keep warm during the cold crusade of the newest asgardian conflict.

It was when he had turned back around, once he had made sure that Hati had left; that he heard the silent weeping. Brogr moved closer to the tent from which the sound was emerging, and realized that the tortured sobs belonged to Gavna.

He waited five minutes, as the crying seemed to steady itself, and then he entered the tent. The young woman seemed surprised (as she was not expecting his presence) to see him, and quickly wiped away the remaining tears in her eyes and the small snot that hanged from her nostrils with the back of her wrist.

"Brogr... I was not expecting you here..." she did an amiable job in masking her emotions and composing herself, but the smith already knew the truth.  
"Were you and Pak in love?"

That simple question caused the poor girl to lower her gaze as tremors began to overtake her. 

The skilled asgardians had already suspected such: the little looks the two recruits would constantly give each other, the fact that they always seemingly sat together, or the way their hands would unexplainable intertwine with each other every time that they were close to one another.

It had left him with the only logical conclusion that the two were a couple, or that at least they were going to be betrothed. Brogr had never asked his second in command about his suspicions: he was his friend and he respected the other's matters that fell in private setting; that was why he did not push or question the young lovers.

But seeing Gavna's reaction gave him all of the confirmation that was needed. Slowly, he moved forward, and lightly wrapped his arms around the slightly taller woman, bringing her in a close hug. The heartbroken and pain stricken girl gripped his back tightly, sobbing in his shoulder as Brogr began to have the same reaction.

They both held on to each other as their grief over their fallen friend rampaged over their emotions. It was Brogr who managed to recover faster from the pain first. 

He began to whisper and comfort Gavna with soothing words. He tried to stay strong for her, as she too came back to her senses.  
"We were madly attracted... he was... perfect... and n-n-now h-he's go-gone-e..." her lips trembled as she spoke, prompting the smith to sit them down on the pair of chairs that were placed in the middle of the small space.

The comforting hand on her back remained as Brogr rubbed it in large and tight circles, trying to keep her sustained with his help.  
"I am sorry Gavna... I am sorry for not saving him..."

"I know Brogr... but for what it's worth, thank you..."

Days later...

"Keep your shields raised over your heads! Stay low!" Brogr shouted to the other five recruits.  
They were the very last of the cohort. 

Gavna, the new second in command was crouched closest to it. In front of them, the asgardian siege machines roared with full power as they pummeled the metal walls of the Sovereign fortress with all manner of weaponry.

They were fighting in a full frontal attack this time. A decisive battle to end the conflict once and for all. After the initial barrage, the legions would charge and finish off the final defenses. The high priestess would be executed, and thus the Sovereign would cease to exist.

The cluster of noises made his ears ring, and he could barely hear what Gavna was saying, even if she was currently shouting at the side of his face.

And then, it stopped. The siege weapons stopped firing, and the legion's formed an opening in front of the walled line. From that artificial "hallway" came a slew of royal einherjar guards, all bearing the sigil of queen Aldrif.

Shortly after, the Goddess of the Hunt herself appeared, walking proudly, heard held eye to the front of the army, alone in the face of the bastion that the enemy manned.

Cheers erupted from the asgardians warriors, but Brogr remained silent, as all he could do was stare at the back of the queen's armored figured, framed with her otherworldly beautiful red hair. The heir of the empire did not utter one word, rather, she unsheathed the Twilight Sword from her hip, the tune blade glowing with archaic power; it was pointing at the front gate of the fortress, and then, a blinding light erupt from the ground in front of her, and the earth split in two; a surge of lava and fire barreled to the central wall and eroded it from existence. 

Nothing but molten metal remained of the towering curtain wall. Queen Aldrif lowered her weapon, her entire figure brimming with golden colored seidr, much the same tint as her armor. With that, she stepped forward, onto the furry wasteland of the clearing that she had created. 

The einherjar charged forward, invigorated by the invincible presence of a god, of their ruler. 

Brogr was astounded by the power that was displayed... he could not comprehend how such force could be wielded...

And now, the last bastion of the Sovereign would fall.

And Asgard would triumph once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to focus on my second story, so for the moment this one is on hiatus.

**Author's Note:**

> That’s the prologue, I’ll try to update this each month, constructive criticism is appreciated, and I’m willing to hear requests and ideas in the comments. I am cross posting this on Wattpad also (is that considered heresy?) and just wanted to try my luck here.


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